General Poetry posted September 19, 2020


Exceptional
This work has reached the exceptional level
famine and a plague of love

Dust bowl

by Sergeant Floyd

In the center of the sweetest cherry there is a stone.
Locusts sing with their wings over the pleasant field.
Rivers have receded below ground.
Vetch for thatch reap scythe and sickle.
Thistles and thorny burrs cling to mare tails,
grace said while dishes are being dried.

There is a line of demarcation between plow and prairie.
A no man's land a devil deeded to us.

The brood ground will eat heat and dust.
A lark sits and sings
in simmering heat like rushing water
in a shadow land of rock and stunted, shadeless trees.
The lark's song is sweet but sweats
with no breeze to carry it,
and floats in the air like sap.
The sticky sweet blood oozing life from the branch of the tree.

There is a line of demarcation between plow and prairie.
A no man's land we have settled on.

On the horizon windstorms are etched
in A diary of personal daily events
over and between the lines in lead pencil;
And shaded thunderheads rise
while hailstones hammer and dive
punching the dust until it erupts
in boiling bubbles like soup in a clay pot.
What life isn't hiding is lost
in hurling white clouds with no rain.

There is a line of demarcation between plow and prairie.
A no man's land .
A dead man can not change his will
even though he changed his mind.

Dust sifts in windowsills
that once had potted plants and held flowers.
And lacy curtains that had to be drawn against the sunshine.
A picture frame house and family where love abode.
Abode but did not abide.
Only solitude stalks the prairie.
A solitary moon shadow.
The smell of resin on a pine coffin.
The solitary hoot of an owl calling a name.

I must go someplace else to find love.
Leave this dust bowl we tried to write our names in
The prairie returns no salutation
except on departure.
There was no salvation in the plow.
The sod we turned up was right side down.

The only salvation is the church
of wild horse running.
The church of chasing mustangs
where spoken vows get broken.

There is a line of demarcation between plow and prairie.
The plow digs graves
the prairie will blanket and hide
in yellow yarrow, buffalo grass and forget-me-nots.

Pays one point and 2 member cents.

Artwork by cleo85 at FanArtReview.com

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