An Omen
On nights like these when coal fires burn,
tainting with soot city's grey air,
I hear the owl from my easy chair
and imagine talons sheathed in thick fur.
No distance his haunts as nearby screams
mean hunger-hunts in crumbling walls
where once stood candelabra-lit halls
full of silk-shod dancers under oak beams.
Like hooded omen he downward swoops,
alights with predator's wide-eye stare
then plucks another rat that unwarily
stops to wipe whiskers in roofless rooms.
Old castles doomed to collapse will house
after time's passage only the hooting owls.
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Author:
Fay Slimm. (
Offline) - Published: March 18th, 2017 12:34
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 31
Offline)
Comments5
Great Fantasy poem FAY thanks for sharing ! I could see and scent the decay in the ruined Castle but also (through your words) envisage it in its former glory ~ and the silk-shod dancers in candelabra lit halls ! The OWL (as all Owls do !) takes advantage ~ in a soundless swoop ~ of and unwary rat. Many of the ruined Castles in the UK will never be restored but still remain as "listed ruins" to ever be the haunt of OWLS ! Thanks for caring ~ Yours B
Such an engaging write Fay - keep 'em coming.
Better the owl than the rats. I felt the crumbling walls reading this. It's a shame so many of the old castles are
deteriorating, fit only for the Hoot Owls. I guess time does conquer a. Lovely poem. Enjoyed it. - Phil A.
Super write Fay, owls are wonderful
more than just an omen... I sense a moral too
a very atmospheric write here our Fay and then some........... Neville
Ah - you are spot on with the moral here Neville and glad you enjoyed the ethereal feel of the owly piece I wrote a while ago. Mucho gratitude for your visit dear friend........................ Fay
I like poetry, old castles and owls.....
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