Ear to the ground.

Last night the rain fell with a fierce gentleness
A southwesterly blew it horizontelly
The inhospitable soil flodded
Not aiding delicate cultivation

Come morning time with smog rolling in we arise
It fells like walking through a painting
As we venture from dawn into daylight
Clouds floating above our heads, daydreaming we pondered.

Poets a peculiar breed would you say?
What possessed her to ask I thought
Answering her own question in the same breath –
Sometimes they write peculiarly, other times it makes perfect sense?

Some images they form I can’t quite fathom –
Such as, I ask timidly
#”I finally bought a colour T.V.”
Ah Bukowski I said, retiring to my writing quarters, pen to paper for the days first indentation.
(c) Chris Black. March 2018.
#First line from the poem – perfect white teeth by Charles Bukowski.

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