No Title

[Trystan]

Petrol, or something like that,
Runs down Rhyd y Defaid
Hill. The name translates ridiculously
As “way of the sheep”, a
Source of slight laughter during
Intoxicated poker nights in, when angsty punk
Songs scream from the stereo.
There are no sheep left,
And more regrettably,
No eternity of long grass fields refreshed
By heavenly late spring downpours either.
There’s only petrol fused with humid acid
Rain running down the road that strikes through a plain,
Paralytic, stunned, motionless neighborhood.
It forms a psychedelic puddle in the gutter;
A petroleum rainbow.
It looks quite beautiful for a moment,
Then my dog pulls at the leash in frustration
At the lack of motion,
And I move on plainly, dutifully.

[Beautifull]

you have very colorful language..
i like your writing...it pulls me deeply in, and just as fastly, pulls me right back out...
you are very unique in your writing.
i'v never really read another poem like yours.

[blazeofglory]

Indeed it is interesting, tellingly moving. You have beautifully depicted the world we are in, completely a practical reality.