Friday, August 21, 2009

In Which Deep Blue And I Commune With The Greenway

Were I struck blind, still could I make my way
From work to home on Cheyenne's best bike route,
Just by the smells encountered ev'ry day
Along the path. My nose is more acute
After a summer's daily travel there.
Once past the city street and vulcanized
Smell of the tire place that is right where
The Greenway starts for me, as I am prized
From car traffic, the smell of fresh-cut grass,
Late blooming trees and cattails dominate
Until I pass the paddock where, alas,
A lonely horse stands grazing, with no mate.
The wet concrete and dust of tunnels, then
I'm practically already home again.

2 comments:

  1. This is an amazing poem! My God, no comments yet . . . I fear there aren't enough people out there to appreciate this.

    Please include sonnets in our Moleskine . . .

    Can't wait to feature your sonnets on Escape . . .

    Chris

    ReplyDelete
  2. Ask and ye shall receive. I'll add some before I send it off.

    And thank you, my dear!

    ReplyDelete

Again, sorry about the Captcha, but the spam comments are getting out of hand.

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