Unscheduled Flight

Unscheduled Flight


A subtle surprise, it’s a stranger to these parts
of an uncharted soul, sputtering in fits and starts.

Emily got it right when she wrote
about the obscure thing with feathers;
for birds, who live their lives by rote,
like old salts navigate unpredicted weathers

and endure the fluke of a cloudy unknown.
Turned away from fine and softer winds, they find
a way to ascend an ever-descending slope.
Fearless, they fly with wings of a brighter mind

amid the stormy clash, as they in clearer skies had flown
with freshness and freedom and this new thing, hope.


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I have the one quibble with this otherwise graceful poem, which is your treatment of Ms Dickinson as if she were a familiar.

and I like that. Emily? Ohhhhh.....EM-ily.
Love your poem Auntie, like all of them.

Tut-tut. Poor Emily needed friends in life and perhaps Auntie has become a friend with The Faded Flower's ghost. Great poem. :thumbs_up ;)

And we can only imagine the loftier heights to which Miss Dickinson would've flown had she been able to get out of
the house once in a while!

Thank you, Prince, Amp, and Pen for your comments.