deepundergroundpoetry.com
No scent for cigarettes
No scent for cigarettes.
The radio plays
but the rocking chair sings -
it's creaking lullaby
to the birds and the bees
humming outside an unlatched window.
Bread's baking in the burnt orange stove,
red onions boiling in oil on the pan
and the children run
up garden steps and in the door
with muddy boots and simple laughter.
He smiles behind a crisp newspaper
and sips brewed coffee from his mug.
Though he hates coffee
she likes the smell.
Never a chore in summer Sun
from the eyes of one,
a mother yet lover
and the hummingbirds sing for it.
The radio plays
but the rocking chair sings -
it's creaking lullaby
to the birds and the bees
humming outside an unlatched window.
Bread's baking in the burnt orange stove,
red onions boiling in oil on the pan
and the children run
up garden steps and in the door
with muddy boots and simple laughter.
He smiles behind a crisp newspaper
and sips brewed coffee from his mug.
Though he hates coffee
she likes the smell.
Never a chore in summer Sun
from the eyes of one,
a mother yet lover
and the hummingbirds sing for it.
Published 9th Sep 2011
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9th Sep 2011 7:14pm
positive take on a peaceful home life. I like the personal touch on how he hates coffee but she likes the smell. Opens it right up to genuine. Well done, LA.
10th Sep 2011 3:55pm
2nd Jun 2012 3:56pm
Nice for sure... So much imagery and the scents {crisp newspaper, you get where I'm coming from} really do ring a bell in my mind~!!! =)
