Monday Poem

Birthday 77
………… —next morning

time’s getting blurry out there
it’s like trying to snap a bullet train
with an old kodak,
like trying to catch the wind
as one songwriter said.
time is a jet plane
it moves too fast said another,
there’s no end to metaphor
but lousy imagination,
no end, but

the sky’s clear blue this morning
sun is raking the arbor vitae
making each east limb-tip lemon
crab grass is thick and green after rains
my feet would sink four inches deep
if I stood there
the road’s yellow lines
tend somewhere,
but

Jim Culleny
8/10/18

Like what you're reading? Don't keep it to yourself!
Share on Facebook
Facebook
Tweet about this on Twitter
Twitter
Share on Reddit
Reddit
Share on LinkedIn
Linkedin
Email this to someone
email