Upper Bavaria, Sunday Afternoon

maybe a pot boiler, but I want to keep writing

Grillsmoke, childpipe, pulled seconds

Blue-white flags punish poles

Somewhere a door bangs shut,

There is distance but only just.

You may be punished to see a wraith,

Crossing a garden of cold lines

Or a hand on an unknown task

Pulling at greenstuff or wild roots

Bees hum like steady diesels

Someone laughs, mechanically

This is what we want to own,

Trapped under an expected sky.

Author's Note

Stay well guys !

Reviews

[barleygirl]

This is the height of fresh originality! Your descriptions pop off the page, so dynamic & snappy. The scene itself isn't anything special, but your way of honoring tradition & warm familiarity with words is what makes this feel special (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[jacob erin-cilberto]

And you have kept writing, with your usual mastery of words and use of figurative language to tell a story.
Here we are...shut in...the neighborly handshake only a wisp of a thought these days.
Hugs outlawed by the sheriff virus throwing her badge in our faces...not letting us go places.
But we still find ways to communicate, to write poems...to live outside our boundaries, even if it's only in our minds for now.
j.

[Pete Langley]

Yes Les, this IS what we want to own.....continuity and constancy. I spent three or four months in Bierbrun, south of Munich in the late 80s. Life is much the same the world over. The things we value most are often the smallest - sights, sounds, smells that impinge on our consciousness almost without our knowing and we only appreciate when we contemplate losing them. Cheers mate. Stay safe. P.