Poetry Sucks

Poetry is fun to read but weird to write, while getting yelled at my mind drifted into a deep, profound state of not caring what my mother was telling me a few weeks ago. This is the product of my boredom/slight irritation at having twenty minutes of my life stolen from me. But don't worry, still love ya mom <3 <3 <3

FRIGHTENED BIRDS, BLUE SKIES--

the sky is blue today, a whoosh of wind has cleared the clouds
and silence ensues, broken by the whispered words of worried parents
anxious mama bird cooing,
growling, father snaps back with chomping teeth,
like a wolf.

the fire burns bright, this morning.
warmth seeps through the cracks of the thin walls, and so too does the
pop, snap, crackle of [not cereal, but] wood on flame on stove.
still it is cold in the icy chamber, wolves stir within father,
shadowy advisors
mama whimpers

today, the grass will be green.
it is fresh and dewy after a night of rest,
save for the congregating bed bugs, grass hoppers and night crawlers
outside the broken bedroom window.
smashing footsteps on slip-slop grass.
father grows, snaps, grunts

the man of the house, father, smokes early in the morning.
the lighter clicks as my turning feet hit the ground from the bed,
the floor is cold as ice and just as brittle,
it’s a too-thin layer of crunching, cracked ice over the waters of the pond
I prowl silently to my door, peep through and familiar odors hits me
it is an unfamiliar scene, though.

where is mother? why has she left? little bird within me cries
gurgled, incomprehensible words spill from my mouth as well
I run to the door, the dew is disrupted and grass-hoppers click irritably at the second intruder
papa watches with great, sad eyes and when he grunts there is quivering warble-note to his song
but he makes no move and as always, he is at the kitchen table
bringing smoke to his lips

I now know what it is that has happened,
papa has gone too far
mama, like a whisp of smoke disappeared
as though zapped away by a morning spell
of insanity

the sky will always be blue, on a clear day
fire will burn bright, if tended to
grass grows green and thick, undisturbed
a man will be content, so long as he has his pipe
and frightened birds will always fly away

Please excuse any typos, I've gotta shower naow, I'll edit later (: