This Poem Is A Nest

Written for:  Sunday Muse #209

"Go with the image that moves your muse."

Artistic image by Sarah Treanor
This poem is a nest.
Not for a robin, sparrow,
or chickadee.  This nest
is for me.  Here is
safety, warmth, silence.

This poem is a nest
where no one can see
me.  My tears dry
in swirls of branches.

This poem is a nest,
crafted for one.  Here
is where I go when
my mind cannot shut
itself off, and my eyes
cannot unsee.

About purplepeninportland

I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York. My goal is to create and share poetry with others who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve in you, and feel your sparks as well.
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18 Responses to This Poem Is A Nest

  1. Love this – poetry as a haven.


  2. Gillena Cox says:

    Wow what a chaming metaphor you nested.
    Happy Sunday Sara



  3. kaykuala says:

    Here is where I go when my mind cannot shut
    itself off, and my eyes cannot unsee.

    Love the close Sara! An escapism to be invoked. It can be less stressful by providing a away out!


  4. msjadeli says:

    What a welcome place for respite.


  5. Shawna says:

    “My tears dry
    in swirls of branches.”

    That is brilliant.


  6. This is the best kind of sanctuary, one we can build and keep ourselves. Beautiful.


  7. Jim says:

    Fine, fine, Sara. The form reminds me of the now departed OSI days with Kerry. I remember writing at least one poem starting with, “This poem is a (whatever or whoever is writing in first person).” Lots of fun.
    Did you know that with many birds the male builds a protective screen over the entrance, protecting the female, the eggs, and the chicks? The parents do come and go as necessary.


  8. Helen says:

    There are days I could crawl into a nest and not emerge ~~ until life feels sunny again. You capture the emotion beautifully.


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