Looking For A Poem

 

 

Out walking, looking for a poem

I remembered chores

I should have done

But the day was almost spent

 

The poem hung inside my mind

Like morning fog

Remnants of dreams

Dissolving as the light changed

 

Out walking, standing in places

I had not stood

I waited for the poem to form

Ignoring time – ignoring “shoulds”

 

Deeper into the autumn woods

Inhaling sunlight, fading fast

I came upon deserted toys

A tree house built by little hands

 

With carpet remnants

Nailed fast

Into the wood

A broken chair that in my kitchen

 

Once had stood

And that baby blanket

I wondered where

It had gone

 

Long deserted, faded now it hung

Where once a

Door had been

My poem was there instead.

Welcome to MarbleHillPress!

I hope to share my poetry and short prose, and maybe a few opinions about creative writing. Who knows what will develop here. This is my first attempt at a blog, and I hope I get all the bugs worked out soon.

It’s the 3rd of July, 2011, and Norwood is poised to celebrate. In honor of this I will share my poem called:

 

Fourth Of July

10 am Parade
Passes through the middle of town
Waving flags

Later, that same afternoon,
Lawnmower races in the park,
Hunched men in dirty T-shirts lean into the battle

Fries sizzle in vintage anniversary grease

Hot sun on dirt near the beer tent
Smelling of cotton candy,
Deep-fried bread dough, and armpits

Tired underdressed women
Push sleeping babies in strollers,
Bumping over the grass

Grandma fans her face with a paper plate
In the Bingo tent

A softball “tinks” against an aluminum bat
Generating chatter and shrieks

Twilight cars cruise the road
Searching for wayward teens
Who have not called home for hours

Dimming of the day –
Thinning of the crowd

Cars line the back roads for miles –
Even the dry bridge is full of people

Fireworks display
Including screaming babies, who don’t understand the celebration,
only boom- boom- boom of thunder

Hard core drinkers linger in the semi-dark
With raised voices insinuating accusations of adultery

Spinning red lights appear
As more people decide to call it a night.

 

 

By Diane E. Dockum