Cold snowy morning
Sirens wail
One off to emergency
Two off to jail.
Brown paper bags
Tinfoil wrappings
Sweet dreams for children
Doomsday tapping.
Living in T-Town
Grinds on the soul
Any faith in living
Is a hard thing to hold.
Brown paper bags
Tinfoil wrappings
Sweet dreams for children
Doomsday tapping.
That five in his pocket
Been watching for a while
Those deft young fingers
Is more his style.
Brown paper bags
Tinfoil wrappings
Sweet dreams for children
Doomsday tapping.
Five for the joker
Working the corner
Picking the bones, of
T-Towns goners.
Brown paper bags
Tinfoil wrappings
Sweet dreams for children
Doomsday tapping.
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Author:
Jerry Reynolds (
Offline) - Published: February 20th, 2021 09:03
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 34
Offline)
Comments5
Spooky! This reminded my of the author Dean Koontz and his horror stories. Definitely there is a sinister undertone woven in your lines and I felt it with a shudder.
Wow! Thanks, Dusk that's a great name to be colnnected with.
I was thinking a little Poe inspiration, but also a little Dickensian. Very intense and just the right rhythm to be a little like a chant or a street song. It also reminds me of a Pogues ballad, earthy and raw, pretty but ominous. One question... for me, T-town is Tulsa, OK, with all it's nasty history and ambiguous Southern modernity. What T-town are you referring to?
I had in mind a Tent City, but I prefer to stay vague and leave where up to the reader.
Good write Jerry.
Thanks, Orchi.
Intriguing write Jerry, remind me not to go to T-Town.
Andy
Thanks, Andy. Yes, it is a tough place.
Bin there, done that and got the T shirt buddy ... the repetition works well .. I might add ............................... N
Thanks, Nelville. Same to you on your poem today.
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