The BlueIris Semi-Nightly Poetry Break, 12/27/07

[BlueIris]

"1926"

The porchlight coming on again,
Early November, the dead leaves
Raked in piles, the wicker swing
Creaking. Across the lots
A phonograph is playing Ja-Da.

An orange moon. I see the lives
Of neighbors, mapped and marred
Like all the wars ahead, and R.
Insane, B. with his throat cut,
Fifteen years from now, in Omaha.

I did not know them then.
My airedale scratches at the door.
And I am back from seeing Milton Sills
And Doris Kenyon. Twelve years old.
The porchlight coming on again.

—Weldon Keyes

[CaliforniaPeggy]

1. My dear BlueIris...

A poignant slice of life poem...

A bit melancholy too...

I like it...

You never know where the road will go, do you?

Thanks...

[BlueIris]

2. I feel like writing a piece entitled, "1996" that explores similar themes.

[Phentex]

4. You should.

I liked this one. Thanks.

[BlueIris]

5. No, thank you, awesome reader!

[BlueIris]

3. Kick.