Get Your Premium Membership

Wetland Song

Poet's Notes
(Show)

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


www.ronnowpoetry.com

The April morning's quiet
and so is the November.
Wherever people outnumber trees
or the dominant cover type
is unquiet. Nothing wrong with that.
Walt got it right, and Jane Jacobs:
the city is an experienced,
used beauty. Her toes are long,
nails thick and hair thin. Yet
her kisses can be sweet; or
smell of ****. All my life I've tried to point my window toward
some narrow wedge of nature.
On Seaman Ave., over the roof
beyond the chimney to the park
where every dog was walked.
Could I survive soot and an air shaft now, pigeons and cats,
or even a desk in the legislature for my lot in life. How about
prison like Etheridge Knight,
Nazim Hikmet?
I've gotten soft.
When he builds that house in the pocket
wetland my window now looks out on,
the developer will have given me what I need.
Amphibian mortality,
gravel, fill,
oak, ash and maples felled. Good
to the last drop is our bitterness, our love.





Copyright © | Year Posted 2015




Post Comments
Please Login to post a comment
Date: 5/25/2015 10:39:00 PM
Robert.. this is a well composed write that I enjoyed reading this evening. Hope you had a great day, blessings!
Login to Reply
Date: 5/25/2015 8:49:00 PM
enjoyed your write .. *always, S.K.A.T.*
Login to Reply