Poetry Forum Areas

Introduce Yourself

New to PoetrySoup? Introduce yourself here. Tell us something about yourself.

Looking for a Poem

Can't find a poem you've read before? Looking for a poem for a special person or an occasion? Ask other member for help.

Writing Poetry

Ways to improve your poetry. Post your techniques, tips, and creative ideas how to write better.

High Critique

For poets who want unrestricted constructive criticism. This is NOT a vanity workshop. If you do not want your poem seriously critiqued, do not post here. Constructive criticism only. PLEASE Only Post One Poem a Day!!!

How do I...?

Ask PoetrySoup Members how to do something or find something on PoetrySoup.



You have an ad blocker! We understand, but...

PoetrySoup is a small privately owned website. Our means of support comes from advertising revenue. We want to keep PoetrySoup alive, make it better, and keep it free. Please support us by disabling your ad blocker on PoetrySoup. See how to enable ads while keeping your ad blocker active. Also, did you know you can become a PoetrySoup Lifetime Premium Member and block ads forever...while getting many more great features. Take a look! Thank you!
Get Your Premium Membership


Sunset

Robert Ronnow Avatar Robert Ronnow - LIFETIME Premium Member Robert Ronnow - Premium MemberPremium Member Send Soup Mail  Block poet from commenting on your poetry

Below is the poem entitled Sunset which was written by poet Robert Ronnow. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

Read Poems by Robert Ronnow

Best Robert Ronnow Poems

+ Follow Poet

The poem is below.


Poet's Notes
(Show)

www.ronnowpoetry.com


Become a Premium Member and post notes and photos about your poem like Robert Ronnow.


Sunset

Sunset, quiet, except
for happy birthday to neighbor's child, 
virgo, and all that means, purity
of morality, inability to scheme, 
whatever else the stars dictated.

Woodpecker climbs oak, Connecticut.
Not ten years ago this mountain was
completely forested, untouched
since early arrival of Europeans.
Now my parents' home and others stand
in new clearings. The birds
do not seem to mind. Sing, 
and deer occasionally visit, from where? 
Out of the pre-historic past.

That I must die
is my every third thought.
On my hands and knees, cold sweat, 
my own body murdering me.
I meet death with the philosophy
I lived in life. Acceptance
of the loneliness, the unregarding
beauty. There is that shoreline
along the straits to Puget Sound, 
in mist, the generations
of sea birds nesting on the water.





Copyright © | Year Posted 2015

Post Comments

Please Login to post a comment
Date: 5/16/2015 11:24:00 AM
very well penned,liked reading it..keep it up n keep writing
Login to Reply





...