Poem of Day

Poem of Day

Here come the drums

Their sound not unlike

The crunch of dry needles

Strewn upon a pine floor

Sometimes rocks tumble

In the creek at night

Heard outside my room

In the basement 

Where the glass door

Slides open 

And the water sings

To me in the dark

In the morning turkey

Feed in the grass

Visible through screens

On the door and porch

Oh I miss that home

That comes back

In dream and memory

But it belonged to her

Neat and perfect

Where I live now

Chaos and confusion

Breakfast now over

The piano of dark melody

Mysteries of quavers

And depressed peddle

Hanging on the moment

Cross the room

From the radio

At one time my fingers

Now enjoying the temple

Of his left hand

And the odd ghost line

Speaking across my emotions

I am sound of life

That was my training

Where words came later

Both appeared for me

In these short years

I am the better for these gifts

Barry G. Wick