A bit odd at 30 years old that it is the first may be... but here it is


No more distant spices
no sun no heat no seas
now the future;
those dreams.

Wet hair suspended clocks
milk wool chalk synthetic fabrics
gone.
Time is roving.

Leather nylon plastic dry-clean
solids neutrals appropriates
dried ink cold keys;
They have filled in.

I do not dare to look back,
my forgotten hamlet;
I once built so bright,
only to follow,

now.

A poem

Nice, but I never understand what poems are about anyway. I HATED analyzing poems in Senior English class. Maybe the poet just wrote the poem like that because he liked it like that and for no other reasons for crying out loud!

Hi Denis,

I do like it, one of Denis' own. Fits with your background, I think.

Thanks for sharing your poem, Denis!

Warm regards, Wim

I like it.

Thank you for sharing it, Denis. I liked it.

Bill

me too.