Sunday, August 12, 2012

His Island (Poetry Rally Week 71 at Hyde Park)


Far away: thunder storms, haunted homes,
Teachers' lounge, fisherman's boats,
Snow-covered mountains
above Cape Red Lake,
August, the fair time,
All the churches of Christian
are pinned in painting,
Standing next to one another
like a priest's extracted
wisdom teeth,
.
We plot football games strategies,
and cook out at paid lawns,
Tilt our notebook, pages hot
from the sun, and draw stars
with images of bottomless smoke,
Between lines,
Orange slashes of a torched island flash,
Letting it pass upon the realization
of dead end.



Image Credit: Google.com, newmax, msn at yahoo.com

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