deepundergroundpoetry.com
Beneath The Barren Oak
In search of sweet manure weeping. Walking in
shadow with the shape of foolhardy feeling my
piccolo rise. With a whiff of decadence to my
nom de plume stuck to my pale boutonniere.
Beneath a barren oak mocking the willow.
Listening to the jackal caw a vignette, gnawing
at my gesture, in my slinky escargot arabesque.
Across gallstones of twilight's minute. Tightening
my cravat, feeling my piccolo rise. In search of
sweet manure weeping.
shadow with the shape of foolhardy feeling my
piccolo rise. With a whiff of decadence to my
nom de plume stuck to my pale boutonniere.
Beneath a barren oak mocking the willow.
Listening to the jackal caw a vignette, gnawing
at my gesture, in my slinky escargot arabesque.
Across gallstones of twilight's minute. Tightening
my cravat, feeling my piccolo rise. In search of
sweet manure weeping.
Published 4th Aug 2023
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6th Aug 2023 1:23pm
Your phrase, "sweet manure weeping" will haunt me today in a good way. Thank you for this write.
6th Aug 2023 2:36pm
6th Aug 2023 4:38pm
I meant haunt is a positive way as in stay lurking in my mind for a while. I like toying with phrases that catch my attention and hold a sense of mystery. Loved the poem.
6th Aug 2023 4:46pm
