Poetry by Janet Freeman

Song, unheard

Perched on the highest branch of a juniper
a raven trembles,
its opened beak a treasure box holding
the remnants of my own invasion—a message lost
to the rolling tide of sound and silence:
a plane passing overhead,
the crunch of gravel beneath my feet;
twin contrails spiraling in the now-empty sky,
dovetailing with my own wish to step back in time,
to hear the song before the bird has learned
the sound its voice will make.

 

A gypsy at heart, Janet derives much of her inspiration from new places and vistas. The urge to move was less of a problem when she was single, but now that she has a family, she’s looking to settle in northern Colorado and sink her feet into some grass. A few years back a short story of hers received a Million Writers Award, and most recently she won Word Riot’s Flash Fiction Contest. She loves writing poetry when no one’s looking. More of Janet’s poetry can be found at janetfreeman.com.

 

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3 thoughts on “Poetry by Janet Freeman

  1. Wow Janet! You opened my mind to the wonderment of the moments before the bird learned the sound, the moments before ……
    The settlement of an adventures soul for the time of raising our beauties. Oh do I know that feeling. I love being a mother. I wouldn’t trade it for anything but I know as soon as she’s off to college I will be setting out on a long adventure to where ever the winds take me.

  2. Your poem is alive with images and sounds. These words really made me think about what we have done to nature:

    its opened beak a treasure box holding
    the remnants of my own invasion

    When I was a child my family moved, on average, every six months. Until I was 32 I followed the same pattern, always on the move, looking for something. When I found place to take root my exhaustion from all that continual relocating (always in pursuit of a job), made me reluctant to ever leave home again lol !!

    I hanker to travel somewhat, especially within South Africa, but I could never uproot myself permanently from this place where I found roots… and a safe haven.

  3. “the remnants of my own invasion—a message lost
    to the rolling tide of sound and silence:”

    Do love the conflict in these short lines. I think there’s music playing in the background!

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