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Early morning
Biking north
Only sounds birds
Occasional chain to gear
Click, panting uphill
Human power.
Fog, lifting soon,
A hazy golden ball seen
Through a silver shroud.
Deer drift, a hazel herd
Does conducting fawns
Across the road
Don't give us a
Second glance.
Not a car in sight,
Only bikes, deer, hill,
Crowned with
September's corn.
~~~~~~
Five stoplights now,
Internal combustion
Stink and noise,
Asphalt & chain stores, streets
Named for absent natives,
“Meadowlark,” "Doe Lane"
& “Goldfinch” Drive.
Townhouses cluster,
Grim gray sides,
Modern shanties
With vacant pool
& tennis court,
Nothing real.
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You GO, girl.
Zilla
Regis
As I ride along with you, Juliet, through these
painful and carefully crafted lines, I am reminded again
that all too often our "realities" survive in recollection.
I am reminded too to John Cheever's brilliant short story,
The Swimmer. -gene
Cheers,
Dan
fee
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Not a car in sight,
Only bikes, deer, hill,
Crowned with
September's corn.
...one of the great images I've had the pleasure to see today;
the second part of the poem tells of grim changes, loss of habitat, loss of the natural, loss of life itself.
A very fine poem indeed. Thank you!
John