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.


  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 . . .


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

    And thank you, my dear!


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