This Twittering Tale of 246 characters is for Kat Myrman’s prompt.
Photo by veeterzy at Pexels.com
She left the trail and the rest of the group to look closer. They were wrong, it wasn’t a tree. She touched the pale smoothness, skin-smooth, warm, and felt the magic—dancers, horned and masked from an ancient time, dancing in this glade forever.
This is a poem sequence, inspired by a painting of a Flamenco dancer, one idea leading into another.
Red skirts swirl
Fire to the tips
But her heart flinches
from the avid watchers’
Red flamenco skirts swirl
Red shoes dance their endless rhythm
Cold eyes watch and appraise
Beneath the glitter of the cruel sun
That beams uncaring
Of the sorrow in her heart.
Red seeps through the earth
Of the cold damp north
In Flanders’ gentle fields
Where red poppies bend their graceful heads
To catch the whisperings of the dead.
The dead fade
Into weeping memories
But the poppy
Is forever red.
In the west
Red boat clouds sail slowly
Sinking into the fiery sun
Carrying their cargo of souls
Into the dying embers of the day.
My green pen draws a red boat
With a cargo of words in its hold
A cargo of shoots and delving roots
A floating forest of stories painted
All the colours of morning.