Today's prompt from the NaPoWriMo site is to look out your window and write down first, the nouns that you see, and then the colours, and finally the verbs of what is going on, and from there, make a poem out of your word pool.
I got stuck for ages on this one - the familiar view seeming too bland. It was only when I saw our cheeky garden robin fly in for a go at the new bird food, that interesting subject matter presented itself. But I did not follow the suggestion's structure - too constraining!
King of the Garden
Red belly gets there first.
Of course. Crafty connoisseur
of people manoeuvres.
The bird food in the holder
high on the washing line
only up half an hour
when he arrives, expectant,
with a regal flair, timing
impeccable. I watch as he darts
about the wall for a bit, jaunty head
sussing things out, beak pecking
a crumb here and there,
before doing what no robin -
according to the guides -
is supposed to do:
flies up, zooms in and lands
with all the precision of a glider pilot
on the green hanger rungs. Sleek,
steady, sure of himself, he settles in
to nibble his lunch in the air.
A sweet feat for a ground-feeder.
Evolution laid bare.
Anything for a bite, eh?
He cocks his head, alert
for other bird arrivals, red breast
a flash of warning to nearby rivals.
And I think, maybe, just then
in his beady unblinking eye, I see
a shine of sly recognition
but never a thank you,
from this lion-heart
who wears his flames proud,
in the meek garden.