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Seanathon Nov 2018
Show me a world
In which I’ve slowed myself down
To the point where I can see my own point of mind
My own line and where it ends
And when
Laughing at myself. Receding. Smallness of mind.
February 28th, 1968 marked the date
Boyce Brandon Harris
(my octogenarian widower father)
purchased a small tract of land
  
constituting shadowed sliver
once hailing, hallmarking, harkening,
glorious vast "Glen Elm" estate,
which circa 1910 encompassed

a hundred plus acres of woodland
Pooh would Winnie
(including a pond frequented
by migrating Canadian Geese)
eventually zoned for commercial,
  
industrial, and residential development
(all in the name of productive land use)
particularly put into motion
courtesy Donald J. Neilson,

who transformed expansive woodland
rivaling shutterfly
sprouting like mushrooms towed stools
booming explosively

after ample precipitation
little houses on the hillside
little houses made of  ticky tacky...
popped up overnight

transforming landscape
displacing flora and fauna with vinyl city
(minus spit of property papa bought)
manicured bumped uglies with wild wisp

reduced pristine niche leftover jot haven
squawking disoriented geese instincts
thwarted, where drained wetlands
a Arcadian past suburbanization

overlaying (palimpsest like) rural setting
trademark bucolic print Currier And Ives  
stock in trade signature prints
landscape sparse human population
  
country aire sprinkled with family farms
fresh dairy, produce, vegetables
butchered animals free ranging
without synthetic injections

nostalgia faintly recreated here
Highland Manor Apartments
Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
a slip of country revered

against a Paul Ling urbanization
nothing appears familiar
retracing roadways now major highways
frequent moments breeds alienation
familiar ground confusing, frightening, and perplexing.
Rohan Press Feb 2018
her palette unfolded like a
sea of roses and you
remembered “trees

and couplets
of tomorrows”:

just enough to feel the
breeze and hear her
gently recede.
pulling away?
Lady Bird Feb 2017
sunshine lingers land
over receding tides
seashells on the sand
carring the ocean within
with a warm gentle touch
there silent whispers unfold
held to my ear I listen
as a beautiful story is told
McDonald tsiie Oct 2016
State the issue before black ink is spilled
Outrageously in the human mind
What was the current spell
When she went to the wards?

She went back facing forward
A long itenery of confusion
She was spelled backwards

When she fell down, she never bounced back
She bounced backwards
A beautiful picture painted

With no paint brushes
An imagination of a no-brainer
Still an impeccable Picasso

Forward her destination
Higher her reach
Her brains going forward
She was receding
Everytime she went high
Her hopes plummets
Alexandra Lynne Apr 2016
My mind is blank
The walls are staring
My feet are dragging
The ground is giving
I'm receding.

— The End —