Morning; For Those With Eyes And Hands And Hair

All the buzzing cars

of  this-

Our land and home which we rest our heads upon-

They wake with proud and rolling roars,

bellows that shake our bones,

and take our legs,

and lift them up from out of bed.

All the little men,

with little phones and messy hair,

drink their coffee all alone,

and smile at the littler men

on littler screens making tiny jokes.

And the men think to themselves,

'Today will be the day that the sun will brightly rise,

and that the moon will lower itself.

Today the price of gas will go down,

and the world will find itself

amidst the throws of love and smiling mouths.'

And these little men,

and these buzzing cars,

and this earth which spins wildly into nothing and everything,

and this sun,

this moon,

who is to say that little screens

are less immaculate?

Reviews

[Sophie]

Urban poetry at its best. Very nicely written.

[Solar]

Who is to say, indeed - immaculately expresso-ed.

[Jacob Carlos Stamper]

Appreciated :-)
Thanks-o！

[-inactive now-]

Awesome poem, I love how you captured busy modern urban life in your words

[Jacob Carlos Stamper]

Thank you! Your kind words mean a lot

[Coyote Poetry]

Great description of life and cars. I hate rush hour. I picked a night job. I miss both rush hours and find the quiet road. You create true visions and those damn telephones. Thank you for sharing the outstanding poetry.
Coyote