A SENSE OF PLACE
George
Freek
Over and
above rhetoric
there
is motion.
The wind
glancing off
the
treetops like the notes
of a
piccolo.
And the
moon adding mood
and
incentive to a furtive melody
fragile
as a wicker basket.
And no
doors open
to past
regrets, and no paths
lead
to that swirling stream
where
children wade barefoot,
learning
to sing,
and
to feel murky brown water
slide
like future desires
between
their toes.
Silently,
a leaf withers, a sparrow
dissembles, and the stream
disappears. Yet, I think
what
was here will always be here:
in
vines like violin strings
hanging
from the dead trees,
like
that old flannel shirt,
torn
and muddied,
rotting
in the fallen leaves.
Bio: George Freek has also recently had poems published in ABYSS &
APEX; THE PITTSBURGH QUARTERLY; ROUGH ROAD REVIEW; BIG TEX(T)
and WHIMPERBANG. His play