Short Piece Of Ground Poems

You could tell he didn’t know
Who he was or where to go
You’d find him around town
Bedded down on a piece of ground

I’m sure there was a time
When he was just so fine
But that was long ago
When his world was aglow

Now there are no dreams
And the world is so mean 
Well he doesn’t know who he is
Or his life he no longer wants to live.

© Paul Warren Poetry...

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Warmth and understanding,
With nothing to assume, 
Gentle like her yoga,
Dark eyes were shining too.
 
Disturbing my indifference,
She moved into the room
With understated presence,
And saturated mood.
 
She didn’t disregard me, but
Her walls were never down,
The wolves that she kept waiting
Always were around.
 
It’s better left platonic,
Precious, sacred piece of ground....

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The last piece of ground beef
No larger than a quarter

Eyed longingly by eight little eyes
their manners for most part in order

First eye each other to look for a nod
And then to look at the plate

Or  to look for intent
Should appetite break free in hope to fully sate

Suddenly a hand shot out
to make three laps in au jus

Popped it into her grease rimmed mouth
And bid the whole matter adeau...

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In my garden flowers grow,
But I did not plant them though.
Borne on the wind, wild seeds found
Just by chance my piece of ground.

Through the winter months they slept,
Beneath the soil, safely kept.
Then when springtime called anew,
Their time had come, so they grew.

A riot of colour filled my plot,
Wild flowers grew in every spot.
What could a spirit be but lifted,
To see the beauty nature gifted....

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