Hi, Jan. I don't write poems, but I've wrote this one just to do not fail at the Challenge--Beat Around The Bush. I fixed it a little to bring it here
. I do have some Alliteration in it to contribute to the class.
Deadline
The whistling winds shivering at the windows, like faraway waves kneading the shores of my soul, lull me into fantasy and bliss. I dream
Then I write
One word
Then I halt.
I look through the window
There's an icy river passing by the land
I roll the pencil; I rub the rubber grip; I sense it between my fingers
I dot a period.
I drop the rod and grab the mug
A hot Yerba Mate, tasting like thin fluid nectar. It slides slowly through the curves of my tongue, and it dribbles down into my throat. I savor
The savor is on my tongue. My tongue, my thoughts, my tongue
I look at the white paper, it is empty
Only a word. I erase it.
The Yerba is cold. Bitter
I look through the window
There's a grassy meadow across the icy river
I push the rod against the frozen sheet
I crack it. I break it. Then I come up
Then I write
Then I breathe.
Thank you.