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it took me so many years to see it
the beauty of our flyover states

the grace of the dried grass
as it dances to melodious windsong

earthy golden arms contrasting
otherworldly clear blue expanse

authentic to its own ruggedness
and standing tall in isolation

to be rooted in these dakota plains
is to know a steadfast dedication

the understanding that the richest harvest
can come even after the harshest winter

the stillness to be found
in the peace of the prairie

the kind of beauty
that doesn't boast or beg

but offers sweet simplicity
and careful complexity

never more
never less
Mountain city lake
in the middle of two cosmos.
Trees and citylights are poems
that nature writes upon the sky.
old willow Oct 2020
Once a little swain, Time has passed.
Chaos and Order, like petal drifting lake;
An Emperor of the east.
A thought to move millions,
A finger to predestine the people.
At the end, The peak resemble my hometown,
People have move, merchant comes and goes;
A place carved from ancient painting.
Serving the people is my duty,
Earth Beneath, Heaven encompassing;
Jaded life is now willow in winter.
Lewis Wyn Davies Sep 2020
On the west cheek of a town's unpainted face,
a mole in the shape of an abandoned tower block
stands and surveys all the veins and dead skin
at its base, there's a cycle path system that never tires,
heels stuck in white, blue and gold Converse shoe
marched through, then flew down those tarmac miles,
every number on the clock face must have held a hand
for the times when I ran full pelt, after nights out,
to save cash, but also to stay alive, as the magic
would ***** out once my key found the jagged
and hollow black hole it was designed to enter,
so I danced with horses, sleepwalking all morning.
Poem #28 from my collection 'A Shropshire Grad'. This is a bittersweet poem about my hometown. I have to remind myself of the tough times I spent there whenever I look back at my youth with grandeur and contemplate going back.
thomezzz Sep 2020
I didn’t think I could find a love so whole...
a partner I feel like I’ve known from long ago,
a swell and burst whenever they are near,
a flutter of butterflies where my heart is supposed to be.

In the past, I had been hastily dealt the illusion
and lived a lovesick life stuck in a delusion.
But now I think I finally found the “one”
in a boy from the town I tend to call home.
Ashley Kaye Aug 2020
husks of air pass
the shelled yellow left in fields
lake water like a bath that once
washed worries away.

this dry that takes my throat,
I ask it to tickle my cheek,
caress my soul,
embody the years passing me by.

Be my keeper of gone days;
I will carry you in whims yet-to-be.
August 12, 2020
old willow Jun 2020
At times, the road is murky,
colorless as ancient paintings.
Road is far, a character dotting alone,
not the first nor last.
Perhaps... My hometown is still there,
waiting for my return after this walk in life.
Too far... Too far...
susanna demelas May 2020
driven away.
a culmination of screeching car wheels,
like singing banshees, like sirens, like witches,
who cast spells on father dearest,
until her skin turned green,
and she turned into all that she feared.

house of fragmentation.
ageing wallpaper made ever more brittle by her nails,
scratching, scraping, wishing it was his skin.
maybe then she’d be able to reach in,
throw his organs at the walls, stamping on them,
bleeding some life into their deflated lung,
failing under her smoke.
hellfire, always in the wake
of a woman scorned.

madness.
it makes foundations frail,
unable to be built up once more.
broken, not quite.
fractured beyond repair?
i think the doctor would agree.

now you wonder why,
i speed past road signs without looking back.
now you have the audacity to enquire,
why i cannot play the madonna,
why i chose to run from, escape from,
avoid the question when someone asks about

home.
four letters which belong in pandora’s box,
accompanied by me begging (on my knees, etc)
for you to never ask me to let the contents out.
LC Apr 2020
my hometown has a straight edge,
obedient new kid vibe -
one that other cities hate.
yet it resides in my heart,
its memories forming
the shape of who I am today.
#escapril day 8! Plano, TX.
Christian C Apr 2020
Rain poured all night until sky revealed a chilled morning
notably warmer than winter's frost- jacket weather at most.
The sun rose ever higher, blinding white and warming
land, locals, and floaters alike, long frozen to the bone.
The smell of grass' rapid rush to shape light to energy fuses
with the air still heavy and thick with the weight of the lake.
Yet, evening spirals in orange to pink to purple until towering
shadows overhang, plunging the streets into early midnight.
Relentlessly the concrete canopy floods every surface, hail batters,
bass rumbles follow with illumination of unadulterated power.

It unmistakably feels like a home renounced to a deceived body,
with it rears fears of past: confinement, subjugation, mistreatment,
but it is not home.

I am home now. It doesn't matter who that upsets.
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