There Is Beauty Here
Come walk with me
in this wind littered park,
please don't kick the skimpy rose bushes,
God is everywhere watching,
lipreading your foul words.
We can be romantically attached
to our thoughts,
share, collaborate,
speak each other's words before
we know we have.
Pond life chokes upon its own thriving.
Savage are the dunking ducks
who write nothing worthless
and yet that 'nothing'
is ignored by every city gent
whoever pissed against a tree.
Sit upon this graffitied bench,
rest your disappointment
under this scabrous oak.
There is beauty here
research yourself
there is poetry at your feet,
a hurdy-gurdy symphony
in the slimy fungus rings.
If we rest long enough
our red fanged hearts
may eat themselves.
The scrawny daffodil's
burst into prayer.
Please don't grunt so loudly,
my own windbreaking flatulence
is a natural response to your ugliness.
Our sincere attempt at urban poetry
has unearthed the buried bones
of a divine muse,
and look,
pure white doves are carrying them away!
In the city dump, God assists the raccoons
with His large, clawed paws.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2025
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