David Stillwagon

three poems

I Cried

The time began, I smiled
The love grew, I agreed
The dice tumbled, I lost
The baby screamed, I ran
The smoke rose, I choked
The food burned, I ate
The love broke, I agreed
The sun smiled, I cried

Early Service

The sky breaks another cloud
as the sun loses hope for this day.
A dull coat of air primes
the low ground as the wind crashes
on the bare fields.
A pinecone Ping-Pongs down from branch
to branch as the squirrels “fly” and land
in corridors unmarked but well known.
A woodpecker pounds away introducing
noise to its world.

Idles burn in a circle.
The smoke weaves upward into a knot
with the sky.
The dead stay dead
and the living die with hope singed
with doubt as the heat
works, performs and finishes one
by one the confused, the accepted.
And the snakes hiss and change
as the water boils.
And the skin creeps upward
and the stakes burn down
and blow away.

Yellow Painted Barn

The Barn door is always open
Chickens totter in and out
Straw thinly adorns the dirt
The floor is engraved with hoof prints,
Chicken prints and various shits,
Rats lurk in the corners and in their holes
Steering clear of cats.
A hand full of hay is cascading down from above,
The light projects thru the holes in the roof
And piercing thru the widely spaced boards, give off
a barber shop pattern.
Smells of a potpourri consisting
Of crap, straw, and hay finishes
The milieu

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