A River of Stones, Day 5 – Still
The harmony of the window
Air conditioner, rack of computer
equipment and fluorescent lamps
sings of statis
A River of Stones, Day 4
Bright sun.
Winter break.
Chill wind.
Students gone.
Too quiet.
A River of Stones, Day 3
Hearing the familiar song on the radio
was like a warm embrace from an old friend.
A River of Stones, Day 2
The infant boy at the next table,
Puts the paper hat in his hands
Into his laughing mouth.
A River of Stones, Day One
Late in the evening
Low clouds and a busy wind
2011 departs, leaving
a change in weather behind.
Moving!
Further posting to The Notebook will take place at http://radio-nowhere.org/nb/
All posts and comments have been moved.
Thank you for visiting!
Get Your Poem On #82
Little Man Gone
In the dust of my memory
are footprints
A small man with a booming voice
left them there
His favorite name for me
was “Idjit”
It fit
He never muttered or whispered
Did the Little Man
and You never heard him.
But I did
“Idjit”
Thundering in my skull
Deafening from the inside
I hear echoes now and then
I smile
One afternoon, some time ago
It was sunny and warm
The bird song was clear
The chatter of chipmunks
was more than audible
He was gone
My Little Man
In the dust of my memory
His shadow lingers in the footprints
I miss him
And hope he never returns.
=================
Thanks for reading!
ReadWritePoem82
3WW CXLV
Transparent Ground In the gloom, a shudder Cold as a witches kiss Forces me to kneel on The frozen turf I search the ground for you I probe in the ground through the ground Under the piece of other ground that marks your place. Frozen tracings of engraved Letters, words, numbers All and nothing Left of you I stare until all is gone A transparent view of what was what is what never will be --- Thanks for reading!
Decay
There was a time When there was a "Cling, Cling, Cling" sound from these relics. And a bustling from The departed bays and Boys on bikes hanging around, watching the day Go by at 76.9 cents a gallon. Those days, like many others have faded away, leaving rusted hulks to remain instead.
Cracked Lens
Contemplating you
Your visage I consider
To view you as you
Consider yourself
is my goal
This task, I cannot
Accomplish for where
I see glory and radiance
You, only tatters and
the bizarre.
A shame, that…
—————
Mark's Notebook 