Morning rains wash away
the winter grime
on the windows of a sleepy town
nestled comfortably
in the river valley
fog wafts over the ball fields
backstreets and tobacco barns
orchards and berry patches
bike paths and gas pumps
unwatched, the water rises
in the river next door
and rises
and rises
© Erik Hansen 2017
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
4-3-17
the atrium smells of stale coffee
and damp newspapers
the floor was clean once
the dirt crunches
under your feet
as you shuffle them
the left taking your weight
then the right
glancing at all the others
killing time
all the while the line
you all stand in
creeps slowly forward
where the badges wait
to be pinned
with austere finality.
© Erik Hansen 2017
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
4-2-17
stubborn piles of dirty snow
refuse to melt in spite
of a persistent April sun
Robins skitter across
brownish grass
A crow calls from the woods
and chickens bob their heads
in anticipation of liberation.
© Erik Hansen 2017
A streetlight
flickers to life
at end of day
the last bedraggled
commuter sputters home
to porch-lights, digital clocks,
microwaves and television
the permanent glow
from the home computer monitors
whisper to us of comfort
and of knowledge hijacked
at humanities insistence
the impatience signified
by the streetlight
as it flickers out
at first light of day.
© Erik Hansen 2017
Filed under Edges
Edges 