Friday, May 30, 2014

Cullen Park



Michael D. Grover is a native Floridian now living in Toledo, Ohio. He sees himself as an activist for poetry, and has hosted weekly readings. Michael has been published all over the world, and has performed all over the country. He has had over a dozen chapbooks including his newest Some People Go Crazy which is available on Citizens For Decent Literature Press. His first full length collection of poetry A Shotgun Does The Trick is forthcoming on Tainted Coffee Press. Michael is the current head poetry editor at www.redfez.net.


Dedicated to E

Cullen Park

-1-

Crow takes off from branch
Carrion; signifying the death of something

-2-

It was you that first brought me here
Where river meets lake
Sittin' on a log
Toes in the sand
Staring out at endless Lake Eerie
Where water meets horizon
There was so much joy
You took found objects home
& made art out of them
Showing me the beauty in everything
I think that was the last time I was happy

Now I sit alone
I have happy memories
I smile
I feel peace, zen, nothing
All I really wanted all along


-3-

Yellow finch lands on branch
Fills the air with song
Then gone in a flash

-4-

Mallard duck lands on water
Floats on the glassy lake
With two other ducks

-5-

Egret flies by
Flying down the shore
Two other birds fly the other way
Bad Brains Leaving Babylon plays
I wish I could

-6-

I understand
I don't think anyone understands this broken tribe
Like we understand each other
I'm surrounded, reminded every day
How broken we all are
I don't know if people get
What they did to us when they closed the place
But image is everything

-7-

Ant next to the journal
Living in an ant's universe
Runs down a huge log

-8-

Crow comes back
Jumps from branch to branch
Bending with the wind
Flies off

-9-

Beer can floats on water
Shiny blue aluminum
Waves bang it against rocks

-10-

The sound of water
Lapping at the shore, rocking
Has always relaxed me

-11-

It's nice to sit
Next to the tall marsh grass
Smoking grass
I will sit here and write poems
With my feet in the sand
I will write until my soul is clean
Then I'll write some more
Then I will walk away

-12-

Looking at the mills on the river
Industry at what cost




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