Ash Woods

[rowens]

Ash Woods


A yard like a garden,
no plants, statues
white and stone-chipped
as a two-decade memory,
surrounded by a chain-link fence,

through which seen to the west
through a haze of gnats
the frolic of the snake-doctor
flitting from charge to charge
amongst tattered green blades. 

And the east, the wreck of trees
like a puff of night,
soot and darkened stumps
over ground of unseemly white.
The loudest lack of former sounds.

Unmowed porcupines lean on
the cinderblock storage shack.
The footsteps are innocent
trekking this lowkey apocalypse,
easy through the time torn fence.
 
Companion never present,
elusive as a snark.
I'm my own glittery eyed pucka 
crouching silly-mouthed over
a patch of burnt magnolia.

I remember a former self
amongst other life
and live this present
to the boom of the nearest highway.
Sound.

[Semicircle]

Ash Woods


A yard like a garden,
no plants, statues
white and stone-chipped
as a two-decade memory,
surrounded by a chain-link fence, Representing the past?

through which seen to the west
through a haze of gnats My favorite visual
the frolic of the snake-doctor
flitting from charge to charge
amongst tattered green blades. 

And the east, the wreck of trees
like a puff of night,
soot and darkened stumps
over ground of unseemly white.
The loudest lack of former sounds. The present?

Unmowed porcupines lean on
the cinderblock storage shack. (cinder block)
The footsteps are innocent
trekking this lowkey apocalypse,
easy through the time torn fence.
 
Companion never present,
elusive as a snark.
I'm my own glittery eyed pucka 
crouching silly-mouthed over
a patch of burnt magnolia.

I remember a former self
amongst other life
and live this present
to the boom of the nearest highway.
Sound. Good ending, leaves you wondering

[rowens]

A distant highway has a sinister feel about it. Something alien. Something too fast to fit a rural surrounding. Something maybe even soon to be encroaching.
I've written about a distant highway elsewhere. It conjured another atmosphere of another color and aura and set of references.

Currently, someone is at my room replacing my door. I didn't ask for that. So, somebody must have sent them. I posted this poem because it gives me a similar feeling. The problem with owning nothing is being subject to random and unwelcome intrusions and alterations.

[Mark A Becker]

Hey rowens, good, stark imagery.

[rowens]

I was going to keep looking at it, but I liked the fake end-rhymes too much.

---

This poem isn't part if the series I mentioned previously.
Those last two are called In and Oannes. Oannes isn't finished yet.

[Mark A Becker]

I was going to keep looking at it, but I liked the fake end-rhymes too much.

My favorite "fake" end-rhyme is "mouthed over/magnolia".  That's a really good one.

Another good one is "apocalypse/the time torn fence" .

Also, some good assonance/consonance:
"A yard like a garden" , "cinderblock storage shack"

If you keep looking at it you may wanna change something, but this one holds up very well- the more I read it, the more I like it.

[rowens]

When I read or write something, my body reacts as though it's in that atmospheric environment. Which might lead one to wonder why I write so much about horror movies. 
It's also one reason I'm constantly trying to exorcise the traumatic things going on all around the world. Everything feels so close, cuts close to home. One reason I try to be as close to homeless as possible.
Another, again, a reason why I try to get things written as quickly as possible. I want to have done with my poems and stories, to forget them and have those moods and atmospheres not impinge on others. I often experience life as though I'm in a kaleidoscope or a montage of different auras and climates and scenes. 

As for my door I mentioned earlier

My door was brown on the inside and matched my panelling. I transfigured the energy of the unpleasantness of the unwelcomed and forced change, and with the door now being bright white and shiny and installed during the height of the full moon while in the sunny morning and finished at noon, to establish a new magical doorway. As winter moves into spring, the atmosphere will change, my feelings, the environment, and this new door will open to new things.
I currently use this magical perspectivism to transfigure everything into useful constructive things.

[TranquillityBase]

I also like this more every time I read it and it invites multiple readings because you uncover something with each reading.  I tried to analyze why and I think it's the appeal of waste places/neglected lots in urban or rural areas where civilization so-called has merely passed through and left its detritus.  Ever since I was a kid, waste areas have had their own special attraction for me.