T’is comfort here
In Hub’s wee cabin
The storm bluster
Must stop or skip
Those outgrowths
That widen the gap
Between a wood fire,
Ageing organic matter,
—And other frontiers
Tepid with gore.
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The ramblings of an abstracted, distracted, and occasionally lucid mind.
Comments on archived blogs are welcome. I will respond.
sketched by a Sidewalk-Artist a 'few' years ago
2006-2011 © Roberta Smith
Content not to be reproduced or copied without permission of the author.
About Me
- Roberta S
- I like to write, want to write, need to write, and so I write.
Roberta's Reads
- Along the Way
- Bradisms
- Busy Mom
- Curmudgeonry
- Fried Okra Productions
- Julie's Pictures
- Metamorphosism
- New Era
- Patteran Pages
- Pax Nortona
- Random Celebrations
- suzzwords
- Texas Trifles
- The Clerkenwell Kid
- The Joy of Six
- The Old Bag
- The Truth About Lies
- Tightly Wound
- Time Goes By
- Wheel Dancer
- Writing Down...Words
- Writing to Myself
- ~ Spinning
4 comments:
Honestly, that sounds like Nirvana to me....reminding me of my own little hide-away place when I was just a kid...thank you Roberta.
Thank you, Joy for stopping in and sharing. I've been sneaking out to the cabin with my laptop and the muses that hang around there have no use for 'prose', all they want is poetry -- and the poetry they want, I write, but don't fully understand. So it was nice to know there was a message in this wee poem that tweeked pleasant memories for you.
'East, west, home's best', as it said on my granny's biscuit tin lid! A neat little reminder, Roberta.
Thank you for visiting, Dick. You are so right.
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