Languid, sleepy feeling as
Moist ground soaks jeans and shirt.
I lay back, hat over my closed eyes
To block out the brightness of the covered sun.
Words echo...
Echo through the air, through the mic,
Through to me.
It feeds the sleep,
Even as its milli-second harshness of difference
Disturbs the fog.
Claps clatter, clucking like hens.
Air smells of breezy rain,
Woodsmoke
Crushed leaves
Hope
and Peace.
My back falls asleep on the hard ground,
But it does not matter.
I would not move
For the world.
Author notes
My experience listening to poetry outside the Main Tent at the renowned Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival in Waterloo Village, NJ this year.
A contest entry
- Seven Years on Allpoetry by catz.
900 points, ended October 23, 2008, 8 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Seashells by KevinDunn.
550 points, ended December 2, 2008, 35 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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These relaxing moments are like being in our own little world and nothing else matters. I like the soft feel of this thoughtful poem. Thank you for entering it
Dee
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"I lay back, hat over my closed eyes
To block out the brightness of the covered sun."
This poem really makes me want to lie on the grass and experience that same feeling.
"Claps clatter, clucking like hens."
I love it when sounds have a more abstract feel to them when they're heard in a state of relaxation.
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