I’m a poet with a particular point of view. In these next blog posts I’ll post poems on different subjects from my point of view. Each poem is an expression, through me, of inspiration or Spirit or emotion. What you see in this light is what you bring to the poem.
Home is where the heart is. Home is where you hang your hat. Whatever your definition of home is, I’d like to hear it. Here is one of mine. Like a snapshot, it’s more of a fleeting impression than a textbook definition.
My Town
Above the hum of machinery
the sound of cars rushing by
I can hear the birds
in defiance.
There are still bugs
despite all the disinfectants,
weed-killer, napalm.
Dogs roam free
in our neighborhood.
They come up to say hello
or bark their freedom
at their fellows behind fences.
There are more slugs every year
it seems like.
The rain brings them
in the morning, in the grass
a convention.
And the deer
not hunted here
in this unnatural setting
eat weeds next to the post office
four of them, a family portrait.
Frustrated hunters
with gun racks in their trucks
have to stop
as they cross the road.
© Anne Westlund
Doe in backyard
Come back on Friday, June 28th for Make Visible: Childhood
“Make visible what, without you, might perhaps never have been seen.”~Robert Bresson, French Film Director
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