blog post, Blog Posts, Poem, Prose


The wind combs through the leaves,
There is a chorus of greys and greens.
Seeing small tethered things.
Seeing birds beat their wings.
Hearing blowers and mowers.
Hearing silence and violence.
Shots ring out a few blocks away,
No matter child go out and play.
Sirens blare, rade the air.
I hear an argument next door,
I hear two voices snarl and roar.
A radio flys away,
Escaping to the light of day.
The sun does not last too long,
By 4 pm it’s set and gone.


Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s