Watching star beams float over and around
mushrooms in a pastel forest of soft, silk soil,
I was, for a second, maybe less, in my parent’s
living room listening to “Captain Midnight”
at the start of the war that could kill me.
The repeating Moorish carpet pattern
was gently punctuated by airy flotsam
shining like star beams in the slanting, August rays.
_______________
This is the seventh (and last) poem from my portfolio for the 2020 Poetry Workshop I participated in, under the direction of instructor Eli Burrell.
| Copyright © 2021 by Bob Boldt |
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