Beeline branches clutch the stem left mute.
Ringlets dress Auburn leaves,
the asphalt burns my sweaty roots.
Heavy rusted winds dilute,
untrimmed trails push aside to deceive,
beeline branches clutch, the stem left mute.
Birds nestle, bunnies substitute
tender holes flutter as I disbelieve,
the asphalt burns my sweaty roots.
Ringlets leak quondam bruit
rugged shells hollowed which misconceives
beeline branches clutch, the stem left mute.
Shift through the hollow bark boots
pushing harder while droplets relieve
the asphalt burns my sweaty roots.
Sun basking amongst as leaves commutes
trusted lines break lunging to achieve.
Beeline branches clutch, the stem left mute.
The asphalt burns my sweaty roots.
I wrote this a year ago. I haven’t read it since I read it aloud in my poetry course. My professor wanted all the poems to have a title, I thought this poem was too forced, thus it being called ‘Garbage’.
Ok for me, not natvie speaker, this poem won the contest of having most unknown words in one poem:)
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Woo!! Even as a native speaker, I didn’t know what many of these words meant until I wrote the poem
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How does it feel to go back and see your old writing?
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I found a poem I wrote in middle school and I was brought back to the moment as to why I wrote it. I’m truly excited to read my old poems in a few years just to see how much I’ve changed.
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