His backyard’s messy;
a son of Titanic
rests on waterless
dirt, decay’s early
stages claiming its
hull in streaks
of land-bound rusticles.
Honeysuckle grow near
a long-rotted riding
mower; I do not taste
the available nectar,
but take in the air
of its maturation.
The grass is a
Savannah sparse—
tan and fire-ready.
A breeze rises, but
it is not cool—a
black sky builds,
and I head in.
Author notes
Another assignment for my Poetry Workshop class; it can only be twenty lines or less, so don't ask me to lengthen it.
Written February 28th, 2006
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hey i like this poem! its good, just like u lol okay well byez.
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so many visions pop from these 20 lines...amazing...
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Excellent !!!!!
Wow, I really like this. You seem to put alot into your writing and I wanted to comment on how great it really is. I have always enjoyed writing and reading other peoples writing. I love how you seem to put so much into even the simplest things you write. -
hey i like how you wrote this...its good...keep it up.-nichole-
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