hewn granite splinters
cold cuboid shafts
plunged deep into
border soils down
below reach by the
fingers of freeze
a bucolic perimetry
surveyed in rods limns
the pale of grassed
livestock estates hems
the outskirts of visual
fields forlorn artifacts
wounded and bleeding
with rust of garroted
hard century cinches of
barbed iron wire when
taut in their turnings
were coaxing devices
that stretched rural air
post to post plumbed
and sturdy resisting
the impulse to wander
now lonely the era of
husbandry gone with
colonial ghosts these
stone purposeless pickets
lean bleak among weeds
left to wonder if life
will recall them to arms
How can anyone write a poem about posts! Plainly you can Paul…not only that you turned it into something quite magical
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comes from leading a dull life
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Wrong! It comes from noticing what the rest of us either miss or cannot see!
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Reblogged this on OUR POETRY CORNER.
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thank you for sharing my poem with your readers
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Always Most Welcome!
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Across the heartland of America landmarks left by those who came before moving on . . .
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and they never cease to fascinate me
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Are you writing these continuously, or are some of them older works of art? You certainly are prolific! Oh, and I do like this one.
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well said, Paul is master of painting with words.
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I write at least one new poem every day – and I also reblog a previous poem or two
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Fine imagery throughout–especially like “fingers of freeze”, considering 2015 is year of the blizzards.
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we’re in a deep freeze – 20 below – but no new snow in sight for this week
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Reblogged this on Poesy plus Polemics.
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