“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label street life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label street life. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 11, 2016
Fair share
A lone loquat leaf
curled and crisp,
tap dances down
the sidewalk
An empty aluminum can
dented in the middle
throws light and marches making
a din down the driveway
The loitering suburban trees
fluff their updos
while locks of leaves fall down
Two lips pucker in the sun
a short Spring song
now nearly done
wilting while the bulb goes out
A blurry old man shuffles a shopping cart
gripping his estate
for near life.
A trim mom runs in the bike lane
chasing rolled dollars
barreling down the boulevard
A police officer cruises by
in his city issued
beemer, observing the peace
A couple makes up
in the parking lot
as two seagulls squawk over scraps
out and out-mollifying
mean-
while
A raven snags the snack pack
with-
out
argument or a caw on the wind
This is how
gusts, nameless airs,
blow things
out of (pro) portion.
Does that make it more than it is?
If heard
it Is.
Image By Tomwsulcer (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Half-dozen Mud cakes
Back to wood decks, quarter-size spiders, webs, moss and creatures stirring in the hollow nights Back to no side-walks and skirting into th...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
I have served between eight and twenty-five thousand meals for my family, I make coffee for them more than once per day, equatin...
-
Lies About Love by D.H. Lawrence (1885-1930) We are all liars, because the truth of yesterday becomes a lie tomorrow, wherea...