Primitively reckless, wild and loud
the child is discouraged
storms drench her house in thunder
trees take on the terrible tantrum of tempest
each crack and crone-like creak a shivering torment
in occult light she knows they lead the lost astray
on grass-topped summits, the West winds tug skyward
lifting the small kite flyer light as leaf litter
to scatter recklessly with birds over rooves and cliff
most times, she runs untamed with feral herds
mane and ponytail swing to a smooth, cantering gait
over the downs, along narrowing woodland paths
with bluebell juice and wild garlic trotted underfoot
before the pell-mell gallop in the tide enveloped sand
where foam fills hooves with shiny slivers of shell
at home there’s always buttered toast with jam
and when it rains, she takes her box of paints
to wildflowers tethered in a jar
Posted a little late for dVerse but could not neglect Jilly’s prompt: Let’s Get Wild
‘wild flowers tethered in a jar’ – such alchemy. Was instantly back a good few decades with a hot little hand full of bluebells pushing them into a jam jar. Love the header image too.
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ah yes the days when it was still permissible to gather a few wildflowers with hot, sticky and grubby hands p.s. image made with google’s deepdream generator – wild effects and the ads made me cross too!
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I love your Wildside!!
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Thank you
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Nice line: “trees take on the terrible tantrum of tempest” with all the alliteration.
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Thanks Frank – Those t sounds are just right for wild weather
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I love the wild dance in the beginning… coming home to the comfort in the last few lines.
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Well observed Björn- never very far out on a limb
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I am completely charmed by the character you draw in these lines! It feels like entering a fairy-tale children’s book and playing out the story in person.
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Thank you Jilly – your prompt brought out the wild child
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It seems to me like “each crack and crone-like creak” may lead the lost astray but also invite the wild child home. I loved the excitement of the storm and the onomatopoeic language that reflected it.
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The storm terrifies and invokes the wild child – very glad you heard it!
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Oooh, beautiful poem! Love the wildflowers tethered in a jar.
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thank you Irene – a sort of compromise with both sides in that bouquet methinks
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Joyous in it’s intensity. Big like.
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Many thanks John – joyful comment
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Your last line is magic!
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Thanks Jo
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I love this evocation of the wildness of childhood. So many great lines – and I remember being a pony for a while as a child.
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not the only one then that rode an imaginary pony! thank you for your enthusiasm
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Send that child to Horse Camp a la Ursula LeGuin. hehe. so great, thanks!
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Ha ha – yes indeed
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