Some poems seem to write
themselves;
I just move the pen.
Others are like lumps
of clay;
they refuse to be molded;
they need moisture and time.
This one is like
a robin that just learned
to use its wings.
It heads west, on a
gentle breeze, into
a tangerine sky.
-
Author:
Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 7th, 2025 09:28
- Comment from author about the poem: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMbrfKP2H38 Here is a link to my YouTube channel where I read my poetry from my latest book, Sleep Always Calls. It is available on Amazon. The latest video I did is a poetry reading at the Clear Lake Public Library.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 159
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15, arqios, Kevin Hulme, Tristan Robert Lange, Ellen Marsell, Devender Kumar, My Boy Ryngkhlem
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Comments8
A good description set in this metaphor. Lovely
Thank you.
Stunning... 🌹
Thank you, sweet Teddy.
Sublime!
Thanks
I hear what you say. I think I've experienced all of those at some point. Well Said.
Thanks
Thomas, this is uplifting. The image of the robin catching that gentle breeze into a tangerine sky feels freeing and hopeful. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛ Loved it, my friend!
I appreciate it.
A fine write. Some lovely imagery, Thomas. I could almost see that sky.
Thanks.
Great job brother
I appreciate it.
Really enjoyed it!
Thank you.
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