White

its a journal writeing might sound funnie

Journal #4                                       white

In select areas, white exists heavy on the marching band practice field.

In almost completely straight lines, it stripes the field and provides a ridged guide.

The stripes aren’t the only powerful reminders,

 There are bright white disks that dot the field in between ever bold line.

These strict, bold benchmarks are possibly the only ones who hold any power on the green.

The lowly white close pin is only second best, to the vivid red pin.

It barley grabs the trodden grass as the master leave it to return to the red,

There it waits as the master will follow the white dots and white lines to its location.

But on the way to the little white pin stands a common, white, clover flower.

Its brethren, family and forefathers trampled my many generations of marchers.

It stands, kicked and bruised it waits for the bees to chase the marchers off.

The only white that remains on the fields after 4 months is the badly faded lines that once stood bright.

And as they fade, the year’s memories reset. They grow, move on. The marchers leave and new take there place.

Lines will be redefined, dots put back. The sturdy white flower will bloom again. New pins will be painted. And another season will begin….

For there will always be white.

 

 

Reviews

[Brooklyn Mcpherson]

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[Casey Emeigh]

I really like this poem. Really nice word choice. I never would have guessed from the title that you would be talking about marching band!