Four postcards from a Village

by Parrish Lantern

The sun sits behind a far roof
like a sniper, its rays
ricochet off the walls.

A satellite dish sits catlike
neither a quisling or hero
relaying its new Morse.

Calm sits here now
altho the blooms burst
like the thunder of old tracks

History has left here
like a retreating army
their cries now, a quiet echo.

Click here to post comments

Join in and write your own page! It's easy to do. How? Simply click here to return to Submit a Poem.


Search Here for Poetry

Click here if you love us! Follow Me on Pinterest