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Array ( [sid] => 183870 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => On the Hoot of an Owl [time] => 2016-12-28 09:58:09 [hometext] => Discovering the subtle gifts a still night can bring if one is open to the reception [bodytext] => In the dead of the night breathed a quiet,
so deep a needle could startle a pin.
I saw the stars were fighting
for blackness
as if space were too small for them.
And the trees had agreed not
to rustle,
every leaf toeing the line;
even the wind played ball, allowing a moment frozen
in time.
The doldrums of night hold, for so many
eyes closed,
a cinema built for one,
each soul reliving failures or triumphs,
while others bend
realities thumb.
So it may seem,
know those sleepers in dreams
were not why I came to be out here.
And when grassy wet dew seeped tween my toes,
(night/'/s nudge in the form of a tear),
with my eyes partly focused though already open,
I dreamily gazed about;
still dreaming of dreamers,
I snapped awake
on the hoot of an owl.
Smiling to all those souls in repose,
I meandered back to my house,
my reason for visiting night’s realm
not even mattering now. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 134 [topic] => 60 [informant] => invierno [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => insomniac )

On the Hoot of an Owl

Contributed by invierno on Wednesday, 28th December 2016 @ 09:58:09 AM in AEST
Topic: insomniac

In the dead of the night breathed a quiet,
so deep a needle could startle a pin.
I saw the stars were fighting
for blackness
as if space were too small for them.
And the trees had agreed not
to rustle,
every leaf toeing the line;
even the wind played ball, allowing a moment frozen
in time.
The doldrums of night hold, for so many
eyes closed,
a cinema built for one,
each soul reliving failures or triumphs,
while others bend
realities thumb.
So it may seem,
know those sleepers in dreams
were not why I came to be out here.
And when grassy wet dew seeped tween my toes,
(night/'/s nudge in the form of a tear),
with my eyes partly focused though already open,
I dreamily gazed about;
still dreaming of dreamers,
I snapped awake
on the hoot of an owl.
Smiling to all those souls in repose,
I meandered back to my house,
my reason for visiting night’s realm
not even mattering now.

Copyright Â© invierno ... [ 2016-12-28 09:58:09]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: On the Hoot of an Owl (User Rating: 1 )
by softerware on Tuesday, 3rd January 2017 @ 10:14:26 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

There are writers and there are poets. You are the latter. You see the universe in a drop of water.
And I so enjoy when you weave a story for us.
With your heart hung on all you do, you could command a crowd while you read the L.A. Phone Directory.
How amazing is your gift for enjoying the simple things in life. I do envy your talent. The sad truth of most creative people is--they don/'/t know it. softerware

Re: On the Hoot of an Owl (User Rating: 1 )
by ming on Thursday, 5th January 2017 @ 08:08:28 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

I don/'/t know how I missed this perfection. The silence & the writer can often amaze. Starting with the first line, /'/In the dead of the night breathed a quiet,
so deep
a needle could startle a pin./'/ And then we get into deep frozen quiet, /'/And the trees had agreed not
to rustle,
every leaf toeing the line;
even the wind played ball, allowing a moment frozen
in time./'/ I felt a kinship reading this. Like I was one of the silent standing in he trees. Thank you, loved this.

ming

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