from 'While Passing Through'/Fall
The sun
a memory
of tangerine mist.
The warmth of day
sucked up like a vacuum
into darkening autumn blue.
The wind
makes cold music
with a flagpole and its cable—
the ping ping ping
a forecast
to the bones.
Wonderful imagistic poem Glen. I could hear that Flagpole and feel the chill in the air. Very well done. Thanks for sharing your poem.
you're welcome, and thanks for commenting. for me your poem had these same qualities. -glen
Beautiful, meaningful and thought provoking poem depicting introspection mood of the poet. Thanks for sharing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What I love about your poems is their seeming simplicity, but, like a haiku poet, you nail the moment with one word, one phrase, one image, or in this case, one sound. That ping ping ping brings back not only my memory of the sound, but of the feeling of the kind of brisk, cold winds I remember from Wisconsin, especially on the shores of Lake Michigan.
Thanks, Suzanne, for looking up this poem anf for your positive comments. This was one of those arresting moments. Why? —I can’t say—but it was. And so it called to be set down. -Glen