I am trying to climb, trying to heave soil,
hands – curled like cups –
ache and sting below birdsong, among roots.
Crows wait up-there, patient sentinels at ease
with accidental chaos;
the car is inside out, one wheel spinning air.
Sparrows calm down-here in the muddy ditch,
their flighty pitch a somewhere
I might reach, a chattering of hedgerow
life that might mean nothing, tiny pointers
whirling giddy sound.
——————
written by way of an image challenge from Magpie Tales
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the last two lines aren’t right but i’ve lost the plot so they’ll have to wait for now *lol
forget me now 
Every time I read this I find myself getting very still……..listening. It is so very heavy and light in the same moment…….like a pause between breaths…..love
thank you, dear soul … yes, the frantic activity is actually about being .. still … i get tangled up in opposites and metaphysics … i am so happy that you like the rhythm – which is what i write to …
love,
S
I like this poem a lot – your imagery, like hands curled like cups, is spot on. What do you think you would change about those last two lines?
welcome, PA – i’m glad you enjoyed this! i’ve altered the last lines but i think it seems to just fizzle out superficially without a killer ending, y’know? but then that’s actually very close to how i feel atm so i can hardly expect the poem to reflect anything else, eh? lol …
patient sentinels at ease
with accidental chaos;
This is God to me. Our free will wanders. And what of it? Somehow in the end, it all works towards some sort of inevitable end. I am the only one that seems to be stressing out about it. Arrrgh. Could I just NOT be me for a day?
I know that feeling of wishing to not be me some days too lol .. but the thing is, no-one else could ever be ‘you” “me” or whatever … we’re all deeply metaphysical possibilities and sometimes it just feels awful and too much …
maybe we change our selves and thought before we can change the world?
chin up, gal! *hugs