I’ve never used this blog for poetry, but there’s a first time for everything, right? After the emotional tumult that was this past week, I found myself pulling out my computer while on the train today, writing about the things that passed by the window. Eventually what started as list of things I was seeing, became a poem about what those things made me think of. I even took some photography along the way, and the one photo I snapped sparked a name, and a theme on which to build. So without further ado, I introduce my first ever poem to be published on the internet. (nervous laughter)


A Poem With Photos by Elayna Mae Darcy (11/13/16)

2016 (c) Elayna Mae Darcy

Brick and street and leaf and stone.
People moving,
cars zipping,
mac trucks en masse waiting,
steel yard full of gravel and industry,
something strange about the bones of giants
strewn about before their skeleton has been assembled,
while scraps lie in heaps,
bits of carcass tossed aside,
like the men and women who built them.

Billboards and promises.
Indications of things bought and borrowed
that might change minds.
Extra space for things an ad reads,
but no quarter for hope.

Steaks hoagies beer and broken fences.
Leaves and trees dying by the roadside,
but still more alive that those that drive by.

Stop here.
Do not enter.
Hearts forbidden at this intersection.
High tech auto parts for low tech kindness.
Dilapidated homes in rows,
but none as torn and broken as those
lost in throws of their despair.

This world a graffitied mess,
art only manifesting from pain.
Rebellion in fire engine red
on the side of a crumbled wall.

Windows shattered, boards all shuttered.
headed for oblivion.

Rock face and tarnished places,
green and orange and yellow blurs
mingle in metal and stone,
carrying minds and those who’ve grown,
all wearing broken grins.

Further from the city it dies.
More homes, more green, more promises,
more dreams fulfilled
in the land filled
with discarded milk cartons and honey bears
for afternoon tea
in the “special” living rooms
with furniture covered in as much plastic
as the ones who sit on them.

it’s a different kind of broken,
but it’s still broken.

We’re all still outbound for oblivion…

2016 (c) Elayna Mae Darcy

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