The Backyard Poet
Small towns slowly awaken with the rising dawn
Methodic rhythms of routine move you along
A care-free track of vague irrelevance
The setting sun tucks your life away
Into carefully maintained homes
The town slows to a heartbeat
The night lulls you to sleep
With a final sigh
You start to dream
Perhaps of
Something
More
Saying True Things Since 2017
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I am a professional freelance writer and blogger with a passion to create original content. I develop web content and write for online and offline magazines. I'm a seasoned blogger with expertise in writing impressive blog posts, comments, and use of social media.
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I like this Jerry. I yawned as I got to the end. Does this become something we wish for as we grow older?
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Yes Davy, as a child it was the very thing that I was in such a hurry to escape. As age overtakes me, it is the thing that I long for most.
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… Luckily, there is always ‘Something more’. A well-constructed poem, Jerry.
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True Roland, there is always something more. But, the grass is always greener and days are always sunny in our memories.
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yes great poem, reminds of a movie “The Year His Voice Broke” it really showed the ennui
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I have not seen the movie. I will have to try to chase it down and give it a look.
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it’s an Australian classic and describes small town living spot on 🙂
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Lovely, lovely piece Jerry. My fave line is “The setting sun tucks your life away”
Thank you.
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Thanks Nigel, Our favorite saying was, “They roll up the sidewalks and put them in the closet at 6.”
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I love these colloquial sayings Jerry, as a boy when we asked if the sun would come out we were told to look up and see if there was enough ‘blue’ to make a sailor a pair of trousers. I think rolling up sidewalks and sailor’s trousers etc are pure poetry.
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I once thought about putting together a blog of some ‘good ole boy’ sayings like,
“A flower can bloom, even in a pile of shit”
“Take small bites out of life. That way you ain’t as likely to choke on it.”
“If your horse gets stuck in the mud, no amount of talking is gonna get him out.”
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Haha ! absolute belters Jerry, a couple of my favourites from northern England are “As bright as a sixpence in a Sweeps arse” and ” a face like a Bulldog chewing a wasp” Such a blog is a great idea, I’ve done a post on Yorkshire dialect under articles but it’s only a page.
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Food for thought for sure.
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I’m not usually a fan of poems written around a visual effect of the words, but this is different. You’ve very cleverly used the physical shape of the lines to create a sense of the slow tapering away of the day. It’s a lovely poem.
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In small towns, life is in no hurry to go anywhere. It just slowly fades. Thank you for your lovely comment.
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