Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Camping

In euphoria, as the only pseudo-spiritual practicing silence, you sit undisturbed amid pristine breezes and starlight, in no-man’s land, among a group of reveler friends whose joy you trust will rust with time for pleasure is a fleeting thing; yet, a mind is what you have to offer, neither wild nor alien, in hodge-podge speculation, so you judge as you ought, through spines and angles of thought, in stealth and solitude since nothing can disrupt your stillness, not even the hooting of an owl, haunted and gloomy, his grim presence looming as the secondary wilderness.

A swift breath at your neck, someone flippant, for sure, to stir you up, so you stretch your arm, touching coarse fur, and forgetting silence, you scream fearing, in this jungle’s clearing, a mangled hand, a bear’s chewing, but it is just your friend’s mutt.


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Prompt: the unexpected