Creeker
I wanted to be
a family man, me,
but my heart
that broken part
got all crumpled up
like a map in a glovebox
of a rusty old truck.
Challenge
Conversation between life and death. Poetry and prose both are welcomed but I look forward for poetry more. Don’t forget to tag me so I could read them all!
40 reads
Acres of sadness, the width of a breath
Here in the middle
of November
night comes to the skies
early throwing it's shade
into the river, like a voice
in disguise I remember,
it's hard to walk a straight line
I've had thoughts
about a black dog
dying at the foot of my bed,
about cornerstones
I've found in the dark
with my bare feet
Forties of death
and no bearing,
acres of sadness,
the width of a breath
I've dreamed a lot
about my father
and the smell of his cigarettes
glowing like a lamp
in the window before me.
Challenge
Imagist/Minimalist poetry awakens our senses.
I invite you to write a short poem, using as few words as possible to describe a smell, a sound, or a taste. William Carlos Williams’ Red Wheelbarrow is a good example.
59 reads