Free Verse
Hayfields in Appalachia
There comes a morning when the hills have changed again. The work has already begun before the sun reaches the far ridge. A tractor moves so slowly it could almost be standing still, making another pass across the ground that has known the same labor longer than anyone living.
By Tim Carmichael4 months ago in Poets
Residual
I bounce between the edges of the frame My words you’ve learned to relegate to the background as a lulling hum for sleeping My presence tolerated as such Though most times avoided But there are times you reach out with morbid-like curiosity And I respond with a stinging clinging pop As you laugh and curse my communication But it’s all I know Bristling And prickling Seeking To transmit more than my simple subtle quiet hiss My crackling scream for attention So easy to turn down to tune out But I promise If you listen close There is more buried within the noise
By Aaron Morrison4 months ago in Poets
