James Marshall Goff Poet Free verse

The Foragers

We forage for humanity,
hidden fruits quench our thirst.

Our hunting grounds, old overgrowth forest
just off the rail-line, down the hill to the

river, was a hobo camp long ago. Broken
pottery, tin plates and old bottles half

buried, speak of life's struggle. An attempt
at a foundation, now crumbling, imagines

hope for permanence, dissolved roots taken
by time.

The search, akin to walking through remnants
of a forgotten culture, feels like trespassing.

We sit and contemplate our passage as Wild
Turkeys scavenge nearby.

Peace is our prize.

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Daver Austin February 29, 2016 at 3:50 PM Trespassing - like we are all trespassing on life itself. Love that idea. First rate, James. Love, daver

Robert Lindley February 21, 2016 at 10:15 PM Relics of the past James and soon will we all be. Thats the terror of walking in mortal flesh--time is the master. Nature may look at us and have condemned us but God has not, because he sent his Son to save us. Great poem. A7

Richard Lamoureux January 30, 2016 at 7:30 AM Makes me think of the Great Depression. I am thankful I didn't have to live through it.

Poet Destroyer A January 20, 2016 at 11:43 AM peace is all i seek :), enjoyed this one James

Nette Onclaud January 18, 2016 at 12:38 PM jimbo, you have masterfully depicted the rummaging of a time almost lost through your deep wordplay; very fine write!..huggs

Eileen Manassian December 30, 2015 at 1:36 PM Oh....this is deep, my dear. Each one bids for immortality....but time and chance happen to us all....and sometimes all that is left is a relic of the past. I wish you the best in the coming New Year. Hugs