deepundergroundpoetry.com
Messages On Desks.....
But the hills are alive:
All day you
Could see them
If only
You could look,
You see
Tiles
And scuff marks,
Blocked drains, rain
And vomit.
But the hills
Are alive!
What with?
Whatever sound they have
Is hard to hear – there’s a field
Of force
This side
Of the river.
It’s made of bungalows
And little shops,
Of milk floats
And morning drops,
Of forever yesterday.
Scaling chalk hills
Crumbling crescendo of youth –
In oceanic octaves
We search breaking waves
Rolling outside the sea.
But the hills are alive!
I would
Sing their names
Down the valley,
A mantra
To make all
Come true –
But I can’t.
The hills are alive.
I scratch your name
On golden boughs.
ERUGLCT #18
Pic. Web. Visual designed by Uma. xx
Published 21st Apr 2020
Author's Note
# Umanoid. Covid is triggering myriad of remembrance. Looking forward to the future - when all's well. STAY SAFE ALL.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 5
reading list entries 5
comments 2
reads 436
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
21st Apr 2020 8:09am
engrave the name in eternal fonts doodah... this is a heartwarming vivacious visual of nature dripping floating flying in love...the destined call in all endless echoes n sonorous vibes ... beautiful picturesque rendering, a boiling down simplistic explorative tone for you i cherish ... Love me xx
23rd Apr 2020 9:30pm
You've truly seen the forest for the trees. It is all the ugly beautiful and supermundane, dirty and the tide beaten back each day to hold a square of ground, that is the true life of the places we inhabit. I sometimes look around the cities and towns and think about how strangely we smoothly dwell in the places inherited from former generations. Like sliding into the abandoned shells of mollusks for some protection. That's how the write struck me.
