By the bitter river, where the winter dogs stray,
Aunt Edna kept her bible right next to the phone,
with underlined proverbs and hen party gossip,
for the party line biddy’s and reminiser’s of wars,
for the backslidden and Presbyterian elect.
While the winter dogs lap what is left
to the cold barren ground;
Dead sparrows, their wings fanned like arrows,
milky-eyed possums filled with the last ants of autumn.
Down off the interstate, by the town road,
I am the collector of aluminum treasure,
my sack of today’s catch.
A straw dog of sinew and bone,
and the leaves dance around my feet,
like winter brides.
My thoughts empty as Lazarus tomb.
I am a winter man,
a stray leaf blown in the hallway,
a winter stray in the bitter snow,
my tracks gone to wind by morning.
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Author:
TS James (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 2nd, 2022 02:56
- Comment from author about the poem: I was reading a lot of Americana style poems of Carl Sandburg, one of America’s best poet laureates, this poem came fast, writing it by a picnic table in early summer
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 27
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments2
even devoid of theological alignment;
this is Brilliant!
'I am the collector of aluminum treasure,
my sack of today’s catch.
A straw dog of sinew and bone,
and the leaves dance around my feet,
like winter brides.'
Thank you LB, this was influenced by my rural roots and the sadness of poverty and diminishing hope. I’m glad it made an impression
love this so much!
Thank you Ryan, more of a reflective mature poem from an aging writer. Not quite a winter dog, but getting there
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