Stan Petrovich

(10/27/1950 / Fort Riley, KS)


I fly over the wooded creek
Always a friend to seek.
There he is, a man, an archetypical Hermit,
Living off the land
Hard & bold
No matter how cold

See is no pretender
He controls the fire
Into which embers glow like ire
By my winds fanned:
I do not understand

I am destined to be a guest
In his little wooden house
Traipse in there
To catch a mouse
He plays cards and holds a deuce
He blinks at me
I swivel my head & blink back- -
Like in the Exorcist, no excuse...
No humdrum meaning

Submitted: Monday, January 27, 2014

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Comments about this poem (Peregrina, by Stan Petrovich )

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  • Poetheart Morgan (1/27/2014 1:25:00 PM)

    Finally Poet...I think you are better now is not? ? ? I was worried about Peregrina....but she was a good friend to just memories... creepy and sweet at same time.... (Report) Reply

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