walls leaning in
the room small
barely any room at all
a candle
whiskey bowl
and cigar
smoke filled the room
like a jar
flying in my chair
no clue
how long
how far
time circled the room
like a loud race car
the noise slows down
smoke hugs still on the floor
turning cold
like a burned out
whiskey soaked cigar
This makes me think of a journey of the soul perhaps in the ethereal plane? Or maybe a moment of just being in the moment, like meditation. Anyhow. I like the different pictures painted by your words. Well done.
From the author of Jupiter Remembered and Until It’s Time: Embracing Life In Our Later Years comes Petals of Love: Poetry of a Woman’s Soul – a heartfelt collection spanning more than thirty-five years. Through tender reflections, these poems offer g
Using Calgary as a backdrop the author satirizes the self-serving nature of the public as it continues to fatten itself, not only physically, but egotistically as well.
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