Riding on the surface
of the Blanchard’s never ending flow
we float.
Navigating currents
our paddles dip deep into her body
steering round snags & boulders
through muddied channels
that curve by stands of oak
and fields losing their fallow
to spring’s green hope.
Overhead black vultures circle
searching for death’s delicious rot.
Passing endless eddies
our talk turns to end times,
to decimating epidemics
—apocalyptic tales
about black buzzards circling fields filled
with the bodies of
the last of us—
one big funereal feast
ending there in the bellies
of those black winged birds.
Later, they’ll shit us out,
greasy drips down the useless artifacts
of who we used to be.
Brenda Warren 2016
Visit The Sunday Whirl
undercaws 
Echoing the thoughts of others in that you created great imagery with these words. And they seemed to so effortlessly blend into your verse.
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death’s delicious rot – in some way this is divine – such is the nature of life 😉
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Good one, Brenda! They’re fun to watch just as long as long as you don’t ‘feed’ them!
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No life is ever wasted it feeds a hungry mouth somewhere on the planet. Morbid but honest Brenda.
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Wow! Darkness in darkness! Love this, Brenda. I think I see black birds circling.
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Holy cow. Powerful imagery here.
THIS:
“one big funereal feast
ending there in the bellies
of those black winged birds.”
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Great imagery in this, Brenda. Wow!
Pamela ox
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Wow! The imagery here is stunning…..and that title is absolute perfection…..completely captures the reader from the get-go 🙂
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I read your words, and think of Van Gogh’s wheat feilds of yellow and the ravens flying above.
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I’m sure I see myself as birdfeed after death. What a dark and atmospheric ode.
Visit Keith’s Ramblings!
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Not sure I see it as so dark. I’ve been fascinated with birds of prey for years. Don’t think I’d mind, if after death, I became fuel for another day’s flight. I like your poem.
Elizabeth
http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/
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Thanks, Elizabeth. We have so many buzzards circling here, that it can be intimidating. I guess I wouldn’t mind being bird food, either. Just not yet. 😉
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Apocalyptic indeed! I love these two lines:
fields losing their fallow
to spring’s green hope.
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