Friday, January 29, 2010

More Poetry

So now that I have discovered how easy it is to come up with a blog post if I just throw a poem on here... well look out because I'm too lazy busy sometimes to think of something brilliant to write.  So I pulled out something I wrote many years ago.  It does have to do with Deltaville as that is the "setting" of the poem so to speak.  Oh, and the definition of psithurism is the sound of the wind whispering through the trees (found that in the Balderdash game... love that game)


                    On nights when the pines talked
                    We shared whispered secrets
                    Behind heavy olive drapes.
                    "I think we should go swimming
                    off the pier," you'd say.
                     "Hey let's scare the neighbors with our cap guns,"
                     I'd offer.
                     Each summer we whispered
                     Staring up at the ceiling of the ancient trailer.

                     At 13 we discovered boys.
                     "Randon held my hand while roller skating,"
                     you offered like a confession to a priest.
                     "Was his hand sweaty?"
                     I wanted to know.

                     At 16 I was alone in the living room.
                     Our great-uncle dying in the house next door.
                      "Do you believe in God?" I whispered
                      to no one but the ceiling.

                      At 20 I was getting a divorce
                      Faced with raising a child alone.
                      It was the first year
                      I wasn't able to go to the trailer.

                      At 22 I visited the new house standing
                      where our old trailer used to be.
                      I stood outside with familiar pines
                      Staring up into the blind eye of God
                      Like the eye of a storm
                      silent with no wind.
                      The pines quiet like you and I
                       -- cousins grown too old for whispers.

We're still close, just not like we were when we were little...


  1. Great poem and great picture!
    Thanks for sharing.

  2. I think those clydesdales are still at Busch Gardens (across from the real ones). I'd love to get an updated pic of my cousin and I on them... but I fear we're too big ;)