Poems about yard



1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
{15}
>

№ 1203626

The man with the thousand yard Stare

He sits with a stoic's resistance,
His son in the casket lies there.
No line of a tear mars his visage-
The man with the Thousand yard stare.


He sits in the front row of mourners,
His dear sobbing wife by his side
In silence he keeps his sad vigil
And stares up at Christ crucified.


The mourners pass by him in silence,
Touch his hand or say meaningless words,
For his part he stares straight on through them
As if nothings felt, nothings heard.

The Parson commands us to silence
And struggles to lead us in prayer-
But half of the room has forgotten the words
Like the man with the thousand yard stare


Death is my race's core competence
Dealing with life, we're but fair,
But none living today keeps sorrow at bay
Not the man with the thousand yard stare.


man,  stare,  yard.

Author: John F McCullagh
+0-
Date: 01/04/2020


№ 1197318

Bone Yard

The street was my mattress
The sky my sheets,
Dreaming of a car roaring
And squishing me
But for all my honesty
Still death I cheat
I want to leave.
Please Reaper, please
Ride your midnight stead
Scythe over shoulder
Dead flame and worn teeth
Grab hold my shoulder
Split the earth
Pull me under
Split the earth
Let me sleep


bone,  yard.

Author: Daniel Magner
+0-
Date: 26/03/2020

№ 1194984

Radcliffe Yard

You find patterns
In everything
And I am just beginning to notice this about you.

You watch documentaries,
And tell me all about them.

One was about
A nanny turned photographer
Capturing strangers
Mid-conversation-

I like your summaries
Better than the stories themselves.

Someday, you, too
Will take great photographs
And the world will know your name
Before you're deceased.

I'm sure of it.

We walked through a field of glowing grass,
And you tried to touch each blade.

It began to rain,
I wiped a stray droplet onto your nose
And kissed your eyelids.

You laughed at me,
Tried to annoy me,
Hold my hand in different ways,
Push me
Off the sidewalk-

I stepped in dog shit
But you insisted
It was human...

I listened to you spin your story
And was reminded of how lovely
It is to peer inside your mind-

My glasses broke tonight
And yet I haven't seen this clearly
In what feels like forever.

I'll tell you "let's do this, "
This time, without any liquor
If it means I'll prove my devotion
To you
And this time
We have together.

I don't care what you call me,
Or who knows I exist,

As long as you keep kissing me
With as much electricity
As I felt when I first met you.


yard.

Author: -
+0-
Date: 24/03/2020

№ 1170621

Front-yard Philosophers

Black cats under the sorbet full moon,
Misty shrouds building in the voids
Painted saffron by illumined iron giants.
Hide and seek souls ghost from shadow to shadow,
Melancholy strays with cavern eyes and hungry grins
Hunt by the scent of fear on the edges of dim light.
Muffled screams hum as they reflect often barren walls
And refract off the cool sweaty air, portents of
Soluble sirens, their crimes and ravenous lockboxes.
Callous constructed guises hover in line determination,
Intentional malice window panes, urging pallid countenance,
To continue on, presence removal an absolute statute.


front,  philosophers,  yard.

Author: Lucas Keith
+0-
Date: 02/03/2020


№ 1170542

The thousand yard wave

You don't see the dead until you're asleep and
That's where they've got you,
Somewhere between the night and the day where
The spirits of long ago play with your mind.
The clock by the bed sings a song and the thread
Of it goes as time itself slows into one long
Snoring.

When the heat of me sinks into the core and they see that
I've drifted away into the between of the night and the day,
They start their play,
Leaving the light on gets me through but I'm tight on the cash and they laugh, think it's funny that I've got no money,
Dead boring.


wave,  yard.

Author: John Edward Smallshaw
+0-
Date: 02/03/2020

№ 1169190

Ode To The Pine Tree In My Front Yard Which I Am Not Allowed To Climb

The pine tree that stands on the outskirts of the pasture
Swaying in time with the wind as if dancing to an encrypted tune
Has been my good friend and conspirator for many years

My mom forbids me from climbing the pine's frail branches
The wood appears so strong but can crack without a moment's notice
I disregard her order on occasion and scale up the tree
Which consequently results in injuries that last for days

The pine tree, the one companion I can count on to never argue, complain, or disagree
Has for quite a long time allowed my siblings, cousins, and I
To scamper up and down her branches
Much like crazed squirrels

I trust her with my secrets
This tree, which tastes so strongly of an unusual combination
Of freedom and danger
Allows me to climb quickly and quietly
So that I am unseen by parents or tattletales
Up to the highest point I can, where I hug her warm, rough trunk
Take in the scent of minty needles and warm Minnesota summers
Watch the wandering cars fly past on the endless trail of asphalt that is the highway
And feel the soft breeze that is nonexistent twenty feet below

I've claimed the pine tree as my own
Up in her branches I feel brave and it's almost as if I can feel
Something like happiness emanating from inside her
I often go to her to escape heated arguments or to taste the inspiration she gives me
When I have a notebook and pen in hand

My pine tree will always understand me
And this is why I love her
Just like me, she has a dark sense of humor
And occasionally
SNAP!
Then, like always, I pick myself up, brush myself off
Look up at yet another broken branch
And climb to the top once again
My favorite place in the world
Mostly because I'm not allowed to be there


allowed,  climb,  front,  ode,  pine,  tree.

Author: Robbie
+0-
Date: 01/03/2020


№ 1154854

Kates Yard

Sitting on a swinging porch bench
Sipping slightly sweetened ice tea
Sunshine massaging my wrinkled face

Scenting fresh earth and leaves at my feet
Sounds of traffic absent
Sassy racket of resident Blue Jays

Spying clear majestic Rocky Mountains
Separated by half bare multicolored trees
Sky clear blue with wispy clouds

Sitting forever with no cares
Shutting out the bustling world
Soaking in Autumns wondrous glory


yard.

Author: Bernadette Rivera
+0-
Date: 17/02/2020

№ 1153004

Hail in the Scrap Yard

No mad coffee shop
Emotions make time real be-
Tween jazz consciousness—
And the taste of sound howls for
Soul on city gas
Beaches that work naked like
Sex, like sleep; selling
Ev'ry beatnik book in some
Village.

Cats improvise god in barely-there clubs,
So cigarette smoke music can be cool forever.
The slide guitar, gutter trombones, the sax,
Drums beat into submission, and
That voice scatting softly but strong
Like hail in the scrap yard.

Be-bop skiddly bop do-wop skiddly bop.

Those lips crack off dryer barrels, blender bases,
Alarm clock cord plugs rapping on the dumpster.
Those teeth chew out heels on pavement, police
Tires on gravel driveways, the 8: 15 bus' hiss hydraulics.
That soul.
His soul.
Is just that.


hail,  scrap,  yard.

Author: C S Cizek
+0-
Date: 15/02/2020

1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
{15}
>