Tonight there's ice glittering on the grass, and frosty clear skies. Orion stands bold overhead. To the south, paired green and red lights rise above the horizon as fighters rumble up from the Naval Air Station and bank into their flight patterns.
Somewhere in this city a soldier is blowing on his hands as he stands watch through the night; a homeless man is curling up in a blanket and not really caring whether he'll make it through the cold; a newlywed is cuddling with her husband; an executive is deciding to skip the bar and go home to his family; a single mom is wondering whether to give her landlord notice or try to eke out one more month; a teenager is chatting online with her friends in Australia and California and Germany; a man is kissing his beloved goodbye for the last time; a woman is stripping for a man who doesn't care for her; a couple is trying sushi for the first time; a Coast Guard crew is heading home, having given up a search; an artist is delighting in her painting; a boy is wondering at the stars.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
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2 comments:
A backyard poet is putting his pen to paper and commemorating the eve.
Your poetry comes out looking like prose. The effect is nearly the same, ultimately; but I think it's interesting. It's like what poetry would be if poets could write while sober.
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