Haunted by Small Yard

With slow march,
up to mow the lawn,

I slobber in the kitchen sink,
lift my chin to look out

the window on my tiny
world, to anticipate my chore,

only to see bodies
interwoven, crusted over

with bits of attached,
rotted flesh, tainted or

painted with brown, or
sepia, from Instagram,

and I said, “Those were
the old days,” and I

closed my eyes.



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  1. #1 by clinock on July 26, 2013 - 11:48 pm

    I hear you Carl….

  2. #2 by Michele Seminara on July 26, 2013 - 11:56 pm

    I love the feel of this poem Carl.

    • #3 by Carl on August 7, 2013 - 6:04 am

      Thank you for your comment, Michele. I appreciate your kind comment.

  3. #4 by Hawkruh on July 27, 2013 - 5:33 am

    Hope that it is different now? Yet it was still unsettling.

    • #5 by Carl on August 7, 2013 - 6:05 am

      Yes, different now…still learning, still unsettled.

  4. #6 by Jamie Dedes on July 27, 2013 - 8:19 am

    An unsettling poem. I don’t us Instagram, so I’m not sure about that reference. Seems soemthing is wrong though and I wish you well. An intriguing poem here todqy, Carl.

    • #7 by Carl on August 7, 2013 - 6:07 am

      Thank you for your comment and your well wishes, Jamie. All is well.

  5. #8 by LadyBlueRose's Thoughts Into Words on August 9, 2013 - 9:33 pm

    whispers through the night
    sometimes no one hears
    but sometimes one will….
    haunting of a war that never goes away…
    Take Care…
    You Matter…

    • #9 by Carl on August 14, 2013 - 10:51 am

      Thank you for your visit and your kind comment.

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