Crash Land
for S.E.S.
boom
and I haven’t a clue what has shaken my world
what has made a noise--I'm scared, concerned
I cease watching Francis Bacon's biography
listening with one of my speakers up against my ear
might what I heard be the presence of an intruder
but I am not sure until I smell the sweet sweet sweet
of ripe dilly
and I am satisfied that what I'd heard was one
falling upon the one storey back portion of my house
with its tin roof
another one fallen I'll have no use of, no piece of
dilly bursting open in the middle of the night
bottle of perfume drops and breaks
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
3:00 a.m. 19.08.09
for S.E.S.
boom
and I haven’t a clue what has shaken my world
what has made a noise--I'm scared, concerned
I cease watching Francis Bacon's biography
listening with one of my speakers up against my ear
might what I heard be the presence of an intruder
but I am not sure until I smell the sweet sweet sweet
of ripe dilly
and I am satisfied that what I'd heard was one
falling upon the one storey back portion of my house
with its tin roof
another one fallen I'll have no use of, no piece of
dilly bursting open in the middle of the night
bottle of perfume drops and breaks
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
3:00 a.m. 19.08.09
posted by Obie Quiet at 3:46 AM
1 Comments:
The dilly reminds me of my time on Long Island. My grandmother has many dilly trees in the yard. I remember seeing the over-ripe dilly on the ground waiting to be ingested by small animals or birds.
The scents, textures, colors and even the taste of this poem is delightful. Short sweet and scrumptious.
Post a Comment
<< Home