Snapshot Poem 10 October 02007

This day is too gray
for profundity. I woke
to roofers hammering,
shingles flying past
my window; both dogs

quietly asleep, pressed
against my knees.
The birches are a shower
of gold, with a few
withered brown leaves,

holding, holding on.

   

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Comments

[Cathy]

This came to me when I read it. Hope you don't mind.

As if -

All is depending on those few leaves
to hold this world together.

But wishes are heavy to hold.

When all you want is lightness of love,
caught by the sun and dancing with the wind.
And no rock of reality cutting into the foot.

But gray always spins greyness and one leaf
has settle to the ground.

[Damien Riley]

I feel the urgency, the irritability. nice poem.