The newspaper
lays still in its plastic jacket,
protecting it from dew
and hiked-legged expansionist.
There are living words
in its free pages, like
ants crawling in tunnels
looking for temples to build.
I’ll crack the locks
on the front door,
walk up the drive
to its freshly wetted form,
take it to Waste Management’s
depository for such things,
sit back down at my desk, and
listen to the birds sing.
(all rights reservd Pat Paulk 2006)
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12 comments:
You're on a roll.:)
i love the turn at the end... actually, i love the whole poem!
really nice! keep going!
Very fresh and original. I like it.
that's a great one - everything right where it belongs!
this is nice pat!
I don't read mine either :p Listening to birds singing is indeed a much better thing to do :)
pat, a poem about that damn newspaper-in-its-plastic-jacket, who'd have thunk it . . . i guess only you! well done.
Aurora, thank you very much! I wonder if it'll hurt when I get to the bottom of the hill?
Polona I like your comment, thank you!
Andrew, normally when someone tells me to move along, it's not meant in a nice way. Nice to hear it your way though!!
Steve, don't know if I've ever had everything right where it belongs, thanks!!!
Thanks Vaughn!!
Thanks Luanne!! There's more truth and reality in the bird songs!
Eric it was sitting out there lonely and cold under all that "moisture". Thanks!!
Blueprincesa, thanks for coming by and commenting. Enjoyed your blog!!
yea, i agree with Polona. the whole thing is great. leaves you with something to think about
let's just say i don't put food out for newspaper editors
liked it :)
ants and temples and newspapers. best thing for the daily rag is the recycle bin. birds are far more interesting.
best thing you can do with a newspaper -- :)
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