about a poem


The world is in chaos

(maybe it always was)

it seems more so now

 I don’t even read the newspaper

it’s on the radio

a sideways slide away on my phone

in emails

blogs, podcasts, webcasts, twitter

(I avoid Facebook)

I could go crazy

as I inhale country diesel air

and guiltily sip coffee from a paper cup

(forgot my mug)

 driving home on a balmy autumn day

 88.1 blaring

wild Irish fiddlers, Spanish love lyrics

wild drums, saxophones

(music Soundhound never recognizes)

and then—yet again

I gaze at autumn leaves

scattered around almost barren trees

and have an insane need

to give them words

(are they not just leaves on the ground?)

How to speak of them?

spread out, a shapely expanse

scattered-blown in appliqué

of brown on green–

year end’s iconic encore.

©2016 ontheland

9 thoughts on “about a poem

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