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Brent Grimes Poem
yellow leaves hang like old flyers
for bands that broke up decades ago
orange veins split
along the cold ground’s scars,
last color before the gray takes hold
a cool breeze
threads the season’s last breath
through busted porch screens
now the country coughs again
through exhaust and empty cabinets,
through plastic flags
flapping over pawnshops
still—those yellow leaves,
they don’t quit easy
~Brent R. Grimes
Copyright © Brent Grimes | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Brent Grimes Poem
Windows blink.
Someone’s still awake,
counting what never adds up.
The billboard’s face glows through the haze,
selling hope to those who can’t afford it.
Clouds crawl like old memories,
stretching their shadows
across the quiet of the soup line.
Rain begins, soft as loose change.
It never reaches the roots.
The sky eats gold again,
and no one seems surprised.
~Brent R. Grimes
Copyright © Brent Grimes | Year Posted 2025
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