PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Sitting on My Stoop

Sitting on my stoop

I looked up to see what

I thought would be

A sea scraping on a beach,
Instead I saw the street

Running past my door,

The drier leaves of winter

Scraping hard upon concrete

Rustling in mistaken cadence

Like an ocean against a shore.

Center of the Park

Centered within

The center of the park,

The planes fly overhead,

Sirens churn on neighboring streets,

Visitors chat in strides.

The bird's cadence, the bird’s shouts

Echo through the valley park,

He whistles deep, he whistles long,

A clear reverberation

Amongst the pines.

Who are you-who are you-who are you?

Leave-from-under-my-tree.

But I stay and I bathe in his echo

At this intersection

Of sound and breeze

Centered within

The center of the park.