Stroll

Bob, , ,

The silence, the cracks in the wall, airborne spring pollen,
The thoughts of black holes, the rugged joy of life that contagiously spins one’s head and heart,
The astronomical number of beetles on the earth, the fray on this shirt,
And collar windswept by early morning walks,
The sudden threat of solar flares, the beauty of fire escapes against red brick,
Blacktop, several pots of flowers,

And though the stars aren’t broken bottles, the graffiti beneath the fire escape
Is the Last Supper, but with UFOs and aliens,

A stitch of green stem and red flower climbing in and out of the chain link fence,
The turning earth, the creased corners of a used book,

And though the stars aren’t in any way lost, I wander aimlessly.

15 thoughts on “Stroll”

  1. When i arrived at the line – “And though the stars aren’t broken bottles, the graffiti beneath the fire escape Is the Last Supper, but with UFOs and aliens,” I was suddenly ready for the arrival and it made me think of picking apples in Fall because of the new in your poem, in that line…….the last supper which suddenly become s the first supper because UFO’s and aliens are invited, yes the new and I try to pick apples every fall and then to follow it up with “wander aimlessly,” the long beauty of summer if we get off our lazy asses. Thanks Bob.

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    1. Thanks, Steve! I’m ready for the arrival too. And summer is so beautiful. I wish I had more time to wander. And that I lived close enough to an orchard, that in the Fall I could ride my bike there and fill up one of those old school bike baskets with apples and head home. Really glad you liked this one. And the line about the aliens.

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  6. It’s such a pleasure to stroll through your simple, and profoundly cosmic every day. “the rugged joy of life that contagiously spins one’s head and heart” – this is what I enjoy so much about your writing Bob.

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