Poem of the Week #132

My father moved through dooms of love – after e e cummings

My father moved through dooms of love
dooms of love on ragged days.
Cornered by the hungry wheel,
he spun the wisdom of his meal
and sprang a sparrow for a song.

My father arched through birds of sell
birds of sell in scaled flight
absent from the shaking tree
he sailed on a paper sea
and took to reading stars at night.

My father drew through storms of day
storms of day that clipped the sky
stirred the air with silver spoon
brought back tales of hollow moon
and kept me from the final fail.

My father bent through dreads of woe
dreads of woe on purple wings
beating hard the wooden floor
softly held behind the door
waking paler images of kings.

My father shook the tree of sky
and let the flower blossom by
the castle well, the sparrow song.
My father worked the earth above
and made his way through dooms of love.

Lisa Vihos