Dwight Jenkins

500 Miles - Poem by Dwight Jenkins

Hillsides mottled green and brown
Pulled and fringed into redness
At the edges;

Geese follow roads, not instinct 
As blue-green ducks splash messy
Into fluids;

Blackbirds fill cupboards of trees.
Sparrows flit singly and bounce
On brilliant air;

Sandpipers find stoned homes;
Pigeons float under bridges,
Gray flights of fear;

Arrogant crows pick at roads,
Feathered investigators
Pecking fresh death;

Brown trees spiky, silhouettes 
Empty but for bulging nests
Full of old hope;

Green trees heavy with new growth
Patiently waiting their turn
Like school children;

White trees, striped, cling to rock cliffs
Just a foothold on hard life
For ones so sweet

Cattle graze on far hillsides
Content with wet morning grass
And oblivion;

Blind men build tall metal trees
On high peaks, seeking signals
That never come;

And tragic hawk soars high,  
High above them all,
In fear of nothing,  
No one,

Poet's Notes about The Poem

Observations on a road trip.

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Poem Submitted: Friday, May 18, 2012

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