Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Recycled

I walk every morning
on pimple-granite asphalt
with surnames
Street, Court, and Trail;
past concrete drives
with rubber scars,
and three-wheel futures
laying on their sides.

Yard trees sway
like domestic zombies
with genetic memories
of forest galas, and
God walking in their shade
on split-hoof paths.

Bones and voices
scratch at the bottoms
of my high-tech treads,
waiting for the return
of light-step laughter, and
night to whisk it away.

13 comments:

Anonymous said...

Well done!

Borut said...

It may be redundant to say for a poem that it is poetic, but I'll say it, it is.

floots said...

there is something intrinsically sad here
maybe it's just the days we sometimes face
great write

polona said...

excellent!
something melancholic about this one...

Unknown said...

This is another mind magnet: " Yard trees sway / like domestic zombies" Introspective poem, this one. Made me think.

Kai said...

wonderful as usual....

Pat Paulk said...

Thank you ma'am!!

Thanks Borut for saying it!!

Floots, thanks!! It ain't always butterflies and whistles...

Thanks Polona. I think I need to take my muse out for a drink, she's been moping around lately.

Thanks Christine!! You think and Terry sleeps, interesting!!

Thank you Kai!!

Thanks Jon, and thanks for posting new art work!!

Eden thanks for coming by and commenting!! Enjoyed your photos!!

Pris said...

You're soooo good!

Anonymous said...

Simply beautiful.

Russell Ragsdale said...

Why do people always read thoughtful as unhappy? I hear eternity looking for nights of unbridled dancing here and I've got on my party shoes (that almost sounds like "been down so long it looks like up to me" - Yikes!).

Pat Paulk said...

Pris you're sooo kind!!

Jon you're welcome!!

Thank you Mandy!!

Russell, I like your interpretation!! Party on!!

Russell Ragsdale said...

Do the arrogance of that thin smile when nothing (or everyhing) is funny.

Party on!

sangeet said...

Aaah! So evocative...very nice Pat!

Sangeet