The Sun
turned its back
to the wind, and
left like an old man
grumbling about
slither-tongue politicians, and
fat-smiling, oil executives.
He shuffled
over the edge of the world,
trailing orange expletives,
cursing Solaritis,
flaring headaches, and
nine adult offspring,
gravitating around
his means of support.
In the last flash
between essence and memory,
goodbye was never said.
(all rights reserved Pat Paulk 2006)
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11 comments:
Wow. Great write, Pat. I don't know how you're churning these out day after day, my friend, but they're wonderful. *plots to steal Pat's muse*
I happened to click on the link to your blog and found this one that leaves me feeling like maybe I should rush out for some Powerball tickets while I'm on a lucky streak. I really like it.
hey pat,
nice poem.....
Why don't you just say what you really think! <:)
the sun
never seemed
so old to me before
so many lifetimes
by gone
loved the whole image
but especially the way
it moves from smile to great sadness
(for me anyway)
cheers
Well said…
AA, if you do, I'm taking Buster! Thank you!
David, thanks! If you hit the powerball will you share??
Kai, thank you!!
Andrew,maybe I did, maybe not, I don't know!
Camera Shy, old and grumpy here yesterday!! Thanks!
Floots, thanks!!
Borut, thank you!!
old man sun didn't show up here today... brilliant write, pat!
That's the most character I've ever seen in a sunset! Wow Pat.
Pat, Now this just plain old profound!!! Is it just me or has your writing taken a huge leap forward into some brilliant, unknown region. The idea of the sun shuffling like an old man drums up images that simply bends my mind. Great, great work!!!
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