Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
am i ee May 14
Puppyhead leapt,
up
from bed,
to the door she raced.

special high pitched bark
reserved for the fox.

learned did I,
the hard way,
not to open the door.

not to let puppyhead
go racing out,
full speed ahead,
out into the night.

wild and free,
and right straight
after
yet another
wild life.

so we watch,
from behind
closed door,

peering out into
the dark of the night.

shadow moving around,
surveilling the ground,
a white tipped tail
barely visible as past it moves.

mean feel I,
for not opening
that door.

puppyhead barks,
ooks up at my head,
then out to that yard.

"Why can't I be out there
now,
alone with that fox?"

learned I,
the hard way,
puppyhead won't
back down.

neither will the
wild nocturnal creatures,
who visit our den,

during the very dark,
the dark,
of the middle of the night.

so I creep silently
up the stairs,
every so quietly,

so puppyhead
won't hear,
won't want to follow,
won't want to come,
out here with me instead.

open a door,
do I,
a door to a deck.

alone stand I
peering down into the dark,
the dark of the night.

hearing that fox
moving about,
creeping along fence line,

finding a place,
a place of
escape.

almost free,
to continue to roam
through this night,
this dark,
& beautiful night.

she leaps in one
graceful arc,
up and over
high gate.

pads off she goes,
into this night,

roaming along
this solitary creature,

taking such free flight
on this magical night.
12 May 2022 magical visits by nocturnal creatures in surprising twists amidst this life in this modern suburban hell.
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
I look at your fences
and your flimsy nests.
The wind comes in and breaks them.
You rebuild, the bear comes in and breaks them.
Yet you still rebuild.
Why do you do that when you know it's pointless?
in the predawn fog
a faint outline of fences
could be observed
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Not Elves, Exactly
by Michael R. Burch

(after Robert Frost's "Mending Wall")

Something there is that likes a wall,
that likes it spiked and likes it tall,

that likes its pikes’ sharp rows of teeth
and doesn’t mind its victims’ grief

(wherever they come from, far or wide)
as long as they fall on the other side.

Keywords/Tags: Robert Frost, mending, wall, fences, good, neighbors, southern, border, spikes, pikes, barbed, wire, electrical
kevin Sep 2019
Shaking
Taking in breaths
Through the bottom of my feet
Aching
In all the places that I landed
Mind overtaken
By all the possibilities
Of things that could've come
Live life in the moment, kids.
awknight Mar 2019
The dreams roll through my
mind as it hovers over the edge
of rest. A constant feeling of feeling
everything at once.
I cry as the clouds cover my eyes
and I fall into a land where I am
revealed.
Dripping down my cheeks comes
the blood of reopened scars
slashed wide in fear of existence.
I walk through tunnels into green
fields of hope and sun and reflection.
Fences unbury themselves; capturing
my thoughts again.
As they ascend the small child grabs my hand
and vomits on my face.

I wake up.
nova Jan 2019
i have spent far too much of my life
building towering walls with no arches, without windows
without any view to the outside world.
i would much rather have liked it if i would have built fences instead.
fences are moveable.
you can push the rows and rows of wire or wood a foot to the north
or a foot to the south
or make a curve in the line.
fences don't block everything out,
they don't keep everything in,
and they don't hurt as much when they fall.
walls, on the other hand,
crash
and burn
and take months and months to rebuild.
fences?
fences can be put up in a day or two
depending on how difficult you want it to be to get in/get out;
fences can be taken down in a day or two
depending on how easy you want it to be to get out/get in.
East Wind Mar 2018
He said I had the curliest hair
                        the sweetest smile
                        the warmest eyes and
                        the kindest soul
All was good and well until he said:
No matter how much he tried,
he couldn’t jump the fence around my heart.
Dakota J Dawson Feb 2018
He is bald
Plain to my eyes
Sublime in local geniality

The garden he claims
Taimed in distress
Of the coming winter

I fear the tears
Sudden regret
For his' long forgotten trials

Forced to steep so low
Forward but below
Entrenched in sweet tasting anguish

His' body hard and unmotivated
The Sculpture of obsession
Must be completed with stubborn muscle

I seem to torment him
My love becoming
A betrayal of our lust

Battles commence
Volcanic eruptions
Shake the house of ruin

He never seems to trust me
My compassionate actions
Bring forth pork chops

The meal
Is shared
Beside each other

Without Sight
We fight against
White picket fences
Next page