Staying true to last week’s poetry theme of “layers,” I present you with another new poem that might be interpreted in different layers.
[See last week’s post for further details]
While I would love to claim some preternatural poetic brilliance, this layering really came through in several of my screening audiences’ feedback.
Some people loved the poem in the literal layer of a quail protecting her eggs from an eagle. Awesome. I am sure Orwell’s Animal Farm could be read that way, too.
Suffice to say there were several other layers those early readers perceived, all of which were so amazing to me. I won’t tell any further details, as I really want to hear your feedback, your thoughts, and your perceptions in the Comments Section below.
And for those of you who regularly read my poems, perhaps there are some mythology allusions and breadcrumbs layered in here, too. 😉
I look forward to hearing from you. Enjoy.
-PS Conway ☘ ☘ ☘
☘ ☘ ☘ ☘ ☘
“the wee quail”
the wee quail cowers in the night
on an island midst the fen,
sheltered in tall grasses, starlight
casts its piebald pallor ‘cross the hen
she trembles on her nest, full of fret
for her unborn chicks, half in light,
half in shadow, lest she forget
the need to shelter out of sight
for the eagle yet in pursuit
circles on high in the sky black
with ill intent, a numinous brute
bent to murder, despoil, attack
her sanctuary, spotted eggs
his desire, especially one
hued like an azure sky, she begs
soft mercies from the pantheon
to exempt her precious daughter
from sure death, and like that, the blue
egg rolls into darkness, slaughter
avoided, the wee quail sighs true
raises her eyes to the heavens
and marvels as the stars begin