Lost Minutes

A little obscure perhaps? or at least a little stream of consciousness.

 

Lost Minutes

 

Lost minutes

before the downpour

rains cats and dogs

upon some rodent village

praying for grain

 

sprouts form silent tears

lost on sodden ground

lime shoots creeping

unborn and unknowing

‘neath Hell’s starting gate.

 

They sing without voice

in deep West Indies tones

of fragrant sunshine

uncola nuts

sweet promises,

 

queuing to be squeezed

of untasted potential

from rind reservoirs

till finally conceived

as pure limon essence

Reviews

[J.P. Bristow]

Honestly when I read this I was reminded of growing up overseas and the locals filling wooden buckets with orange peels because the tourists were to lazy to peel them themselves.....and then they were left in the sun......and a sweet yet quickly rancid smell filled the air...it clung to everything.....it wasn't until I grew up that I understood why it always made me sick-conscience is engrained. I am reminded of life....and economy. I find myself wondering about quality and quantity....and judgement. Bruises and possibilities ......a great write my friend not obscure but open to interpretation........allowing the imagination to run rampant.