S
SophiaGrace
Guest
This is a thread in which I will read poems to the forum.
This will be done via typing.
Hope you Enjoy.
This poem is from a collection of poems called That Back Road In John Brandi. It was gifted to me by my first love over a decade ago. This collection is precious to me. I will read you a poem from here called If They Ask.
If They Ask
by: John Brandi
Tell them I'm gone for a week
up to Three Turkey Ruin
past where the pavement ends
along Yellow Jacket Creek
Tell them I'm sitting in the shade
on the road toward Ismay
eating white strawberries, under
a Four Corner moon
And that I took no maps
--nothing to find my way.
Let them wonder
because I'm gone, receiving
news from nowhere
asking questions in the hills
talking to lizards
with my cap on backwards
I urge you: Don't follow
Don't ask why
I may be in a bar
at Mexican Hat, or retracing
my footprints
in another dry gulch
Keep this journey quiet:
like the wing of a dove
against tan-gray stone
Like that time we made love
by Sleeping Ute Mountain
scooping up sandpits for our bodies
along the banks
of the San Juan.
This will be done via typing.
Hope you Enjoy.
This poem is from a collection of poems called That Back Road In John Brandi. It was gifted to me by my first love over a decade ago. This collection is precious to me. I will read you a poem from here called If They Ask.
If They Ask
by: John Brandi
Tell them I'm gone for a week
up to Three Turkey Ruin
past where the pavement ends
along Yellow Jacket Creek
Tell them I'm sitting in the shade
on the road toward Ismay
eating white strawberries, under
a Four Corner moon
And that I took no maps
--nothing to find my way.
Let them wonder
because I'm gone, receiving
news from nowhere
asking questions in the hills
talking to lizards
with my cap on backwards
I urge you: Don't follow
Don't ask why
I may be in a bar
at Mexican Hat, or retracing
my footprints
in another dry gulch
Keep this journey quiet:
like the wing of a dove
against tan-gray stone
Like that time we made love
by Sleeping Ute Mountain
scooping up sandpits for our bodies
along the banks
of the San Juan.