Open Poetry #49 |
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Cedar Picket (from Riding the Greyhound) |
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jwesley Member Rara Avis
since 2000-04-30
Posts 7563Spring, Texas ![]() |
![]() Cedar Picket I cling with tendrils clutching every imperfection where her soul and mine touch, rub, saw and caress much as a vine crawling up the side of a worn and weathered gray-cedar picket on a fence that never seems to end. I wash my face comb my hair, clean the sweat off my chest. It's never easy – never easy, to say . . . Goodbye. Big Dog's tires used to lull me to sleep, put the past behind – used take my hurt, throw it in the wind, tell it goodbye . . . But all the washing, the combing, the cleaning can't remove the essence of her, not on the outside, or the inside, not from my head . . . Stay with me, just stay with me . . . as I pushed her away. Roll Big Dog . . .roll, It's never easy – never easy, to say Goodbye. © wesley james beard, jr. december 30, 2014 (Please don't assume everything I write is based on my personal life...) |
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© Copyright 2015 Wesley James Beard, Jr. - All Rights Reserved | |||
Lori Grosser Rhoden Member Patricius
since 2009-10-10
Posts 10202Fair to middlin' of nowhere |
You are so convincing with this theme you are wise to put the disclaimer at the bottom. Great images here Jimmy! ~L |
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jwesley Member Rara Avis
since 2000-04-30
Posts 7563Spring, Texas |
LOL! Thank you Lori - definitely is not relevant to my personal life! jimmy |
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JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana |
I have lived this life of which you write. Was just unable for many years to settle down and do right. ~*~ When they give you ruled paper write sideways. ~*~ |
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tracie66 Member Elite
since 2000-01-18
Posts 4713Australia |
loved this, what a wonderful read! xx Love is the life of the soul... |
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JamesMichael Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336Kapolei, Hawaii, USA |
fine writing...james |
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Marchmadness Member Rara Avis
since 2007-09-16
Posts 9271So. El Monte, California |
Sometimes we have to take a little poetic license and cater to all those ideas that gather in our heads. That's what poets do. Ida |
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