Poetry Dice Entry
Never done anything like this before!
He knew the time
Just by the moon,
Through all his days
Lived off the land
Ate fruit and flowers,
Gathered herbs,
Smoked a pipe
And told us stories
That would go on
For hours.
His favourite home
An old wigwam,
It stank of smoke
And sacred herbs
And in its heart
Were weighing scales
Where Grandpa liked to
Measure souls,
For Grandpa had an eye
For even the smallest
Of such details.
He knew the names
Of everyone,
Even those so
New to town,
That no one else had
Heard of them,
Then in they'd come
To play his dice
But if their soul
Did not weigh clean,
Grandpa would personally
See to it
That they
Were stripped,
Of absolutely everything.
I never knew
Another like him,
And when my Grandpa
Passed away,
I burnt it up:
My Grandpa's wigwam.
That was wonderful!
Thank you <3
Sheer excellence. I love the form and the images and feelings this piece conjures for me!
Thank you so much :) Sorry for late response - been in a field for a few days xxxxx
nice poem.
Thank you!
Beautiful as always. Upped and resteemed.
Ah thank you <3 xxx
This is so powerful! I even like the ending :-O what a way to go out! I really get the sense of this Grandpa fellow you write about XO XD I like!!!! Cheers~!
Thank you :) i love all my characters so it's lovely someone else can appreciate them.too xxx i only have.minimal wifi as away but will chexk in when i can :) xxx