Your Poetry Dot Com - Waiting For The Bat

Array ( [sid] => 184801 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Waiting For The Bat [time] => 2018-01-16 17:49:43 [hometext] => Musing as the perfect dusk demands [bodytext] => Dvorak flows, floats toward shore of this dusky, winter day,
tinged white, softer for waning light; so calm, twinkling, a word,
as if to say, “Spell, enchanted spell, I bid thee go away”, now
alone again with dying light, canyon’ed voices shuffling in a herd.

Where does a poem sit in soliloquy, whispering for life,
eager pen scratching as a chicken three days unfed,
a struggle to regain but a sliver of youth’s defanged strife,
when words were solid silver, bludgeoning the senses with every sentence read.

Did this thing I’ve become, mute in ceaseless chatter,
scrambling to regain just a tiny slice of that younger intensity,
before I knew what least scintillates is what truly matters,
the incongruity of a country boy tossed, barked about a bustling city.

Overalls and straw donned once a year, a nod to me before, oh,
city, ant farms of people pushed, molded this pinata
of tears and laughter, dampened in the display front of eternity’s store
of grimy windows demanding the pinata bat to release my candy.

[comments] => 1 [counter] => 69 [topic] => 69 [informant] => invierno [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => poets ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Waiting For The Bat

Waiting For The Bat
Date: Tuesday, 16th January 2018 @ 05:49:43 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: invierno

Dvorak flows, floats toward shore of this dusky, winter day,
tinged white, softer for waning light; so calm, twinkling, a word,
as if to say, “Spell, enchanted spell, I bid thee go away”, now
alone again with dying light, canyon’ed voices shuffling in a herd.

Where does a poem sit in soliloquy, whispering for life,
eager pen scratching as a chicken three days unfed,
a struggle to regain but a sliver of youth’s defanged strife,
when words were solid silver, bludgeoning the senses with every sentence read.

Did this thing I’ve become, mute in ceaseless chatter,
scrambling to regain just a tiny slice of that younger intensity,
before I knew what least scintillates is what truly matters,
the incongruity of a country boy tossed, barked about a bustling city.

Overalls and straw donned once a year, a nod to me before, oh,
city, ant farms of people pushed, molded this pinata
of tears and laughter, dampened in the display front of eternity’s store
of grimy windows demanding the pinata bat to release my candy.

This poem is Copyright ยฉ invierno

Important note: ALL POETRY ON THIS SITE IS COPYRIGHT.
If you wish to use any poem for any purpose, please either EMAIL Mick from
the sites feedback form, or go to the AUTHOR'S site and EMAIL the author for permission.
If you Email Mick for permission on any poem that is not his personal works,
he will endeavor to contact the author on your behalf.

This poem comes from Your Poetry Dot Com
https://www.your-poetry.com/

The URL for this poem is:
https://www.your-poetry.com/route.php?page=poetry/PoemDetail&story_id=184801