Poem: Concrete Forest, Paper Meadows

Welcome back to my monthly poem!

I’m feeling a little lazy this month, and I’m going to try out something new: a short intro so you can focus more on the poem. And while there is no audio for the moment, I may add it at a later time. My inspiration: I’m on a road trip, I’m tired, and I don’t want to live in a big city at this time.

Concrete Forest, Paper Meadows

How much scope for imagination

is there really, in this concrete forest?

Here the leaves are made of glass,

and the bark bleeds metal.

It feels like every pane is filled

with this life or that—

memories of her yesterday,

thoughts of their tomorrow—

is there any room for me here?

Give me back the paper meadows,

where the shadows stretch long

and don’t swallow me hours before sunset,

where the corn stalks bend in the wind

and the thunderheads ebb back and forth—

blink and they’re here—

blink and they’re gone.

Sing me a lullaby of windchimes and whistling grass

of raindrops, thunderclaps, and butterfly wingbeats.

Sing me a song under the open stars,

where the fireflies bob and the mulberries grow.

Here my roots can stretch—

there my roots can grow—

but it’s only a matter of days

before the dandelion seeds

let go.

***

Let’s chat! What did you think of the poem? What kind of area are you most comfortable living in?

Similar poems: At My Own Pace (Video), Romantic (Video), Shadows