Where Poems Hide
In a hand drawn picture;
a painted scene: a sunset.
A raggy man strumming the guitar
along the busy sidewalk street.
A waterfall found in the quiet woods,
water tumbling over the rocks.
Police cop pushing passed a class on a field trip
to follow the man that stole a purse.
An angel flying over head,
gliding by a field of flowers.
An old man showing off his talent
of kissing his own elbow.
Wild flowers growing
brightening an empty field.
Black, all are uniformed in black
such as the way of New York City.
In the silence of the country
Or the bustle of the city.
A poem has found me.
a painted scene: a sunset.
A raggy man strumming the guitar
along the busy sidewalk street.
A waterfall found in the quiet woods,
water tumbling over the rocks.
Police cop pushing passed a class on a field trip
to follow the man that stole a purse.
An angel flying over head,
gliding by a field of flowers.
An old man showing off his talent
of kissing his own elbow.
Wild flowers growing
brightening an empty field.
Black, all are uniformed in black
such as the way of New York City.
In the silence of the country
Or the bustle of the city.
A poem has found me.
♠ ♠ ♠
In case anyone was wondering, my friend wrote the beautiful imagery with the fields of flowers and waterfalls in the woods. Yours truly, Andie.x.Stone, wrote the craziness of the city because I have been known to write random poems about street vendors, police chases, and some man I met who kissed his own elbow.