Ghost In the Clouds
I remember the two story frame house
surrounded by a gold sea of wheat
and the summer morning before the heat
the sounds from the creek would be my rouse
the sound of water running over rocks
held no fascination as it ran
it was the clinking sound of a tin can
that made me run to the door with no locks
the sound that came drifting up from the creek
the sound of voices of just a few
a kitchen match being struck on a shoe
in the summer maybe just a week
where do they come from and where do they go
they don't live in a house like I've known
they don't eat at a table in a home
I don't question for fear they don't know
I sit and listen for name of a town
and highway numbers I hear them say
and names of rivers a new one today
I know there is much more to be found
lying on our back we watch clouds roll by
they seem to be more like puffs of steam
going the same direction as the stream
these people move like clouds in the sky
suddenly I would stir and look about
hearing my mother calling my name
and just as before I've always came
then one day so distant my mothers shout
Copyright © James Study | Year Posted 2019
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment