This poem is
the place I live. It’s a shanty
by the sea, with a view of
forever. It’s a well
-weathered cottage
dotting a crimson sky. It’s
a penthouse suite, a one
-room apartment,
a periwinkle chalk cardboard
box on the corner of the street.
Ask me my address, and
I will give you this phrase,
the trodding of days in paper
skins, the
(trailer trash)
thin line that
curls ’round and finds itself
a place to be. Un
-zip my code and you’ll
see I am a transient soul,
a gypsy pirate wonder
-wandering the stars. I’m
thick with brick and mortar
scars, elm-stretched sketches
and fallen oak breeze.
This poem is where I hang
my way too many hats
and too few dreams. It’s a
noisy sidewalk and a silent
cathedral psalm, a cityscape
and a silver sliver scraping an
ebony sky. It’s a left
(over)
lung and a forked tongue
and a scritching finger
lingering too long
on lost syllables.
It’s a flophouse and a
tree house and a tea house
and everything in be
-tween. An inky palace,
a castle made of stones
unthrown.
And every time I think
of leaving,
it whispers
welcome home.
Miz Q‘s got us off and running with another fun prompt today. Come play!
Whimsygizmo's Blog 
Gorgeous. I esp love “It’s a shanty
by the sea, with a view of
forever.”
Thanks, Debi. I want one of those, SO bad.
This is the best casserole poem I’ve eaten in a long long while … home is where the heart is … fuck yeah poet … Love this thank you …
You crack me up. Always happy to see you here, Sir.
Once again, you have left me sated with so many wonderful turns of phrase, a full day of recess-wordplay…The sixth and seventh stanzas really snuggled into my solar plexus and shone brilliantly. The title is also fabulous. Still smiling. Thank you 😚
Thanks, Sarah. I love “snuggled into my solar plexus.” Your comment IS a poem.
Thank you De. You always inspire me with your words. I have been playing with solar plexus since that comment…😉
Love it! Shawna’s comments often have me playing with new poems, too. Words are just the best.
Welcome home…our poems do!
While fairly stationary for a bit I’ve moved over twenty times (or more)!
I haven’t ever really counted, Jules, but my dad was Air Force, and then National Health Service Corps. Lots of moves. We find home where we can get it. 😉
For different reasons…but yep, I know the feeling.
‘This poem is where I hang
my way too many hats
and too few dreams. It’s a
noisy sidewalk and a silent
cathedral psalm, a cityscape
and a silver sliver scraping an
ebony sky. It’s a left
(over)
lung and a forked tongue
and a scritching finger
lingering too long
on lost syllables.’
Where to start? This poem is brilliant, De. I keep rereading this stanza. Incredible use of words!