Tumbleweed

Bent sign hanging storefront

Swinging by one strand of rusty chain

The other broken

Bangs the clapboard wood wall

The lone winds

Howling drawl

Harries that last lonely token

 

Blowing dust down a street

With empty storefronts

Doors listless swing

Empty eyes of blank

Glass

Tufts of dry

Grass

 

Boardwalks now broken

No words here now spoken

Tumbleweeds tumble

Empty dreams

Now humble

Wind blows on by

What was but now isn’t

 

Reviews

[Delmar Cooper]

I don't know that it isn't. Your eloquent description breathes life back into the most ghostly of ghost towns it adds... what shall we say? Spirit?
Thanks.

[Dave Brown]

and many thanks to you Delmar

[barleygirl]

This is how my body feels. I'm hanging from one rusty chain (love that apt detail!) I love how you pack a scene with sparkling details that make a reader really recognize this place. I love how this could relate to the way many small towns are drying up -- first with manufacturing going in the toilet & now with gathering places severely limited & choking. This poem says so much more than meets the eyeball (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Dave Brown]

Thanks Margie
How much do I owe you now for all the great reviews
Maybe I can borrow some from the Russians