August in Ohio
Deafened by cicadas,
I spend my summer
in the vibrant woods
south of Lytle Creek.
The train tracks beckon
from the other side.
There’s a penny in my pocket
that needs to be smeared
across the iron.
After staying out past twilight,
I lie in bed, windows open,
hoping to hear the steam whistle,
like the howl of a wolf
alone in the night.
(Another poem which was started during the Germination Workshop two weeks ago whose prompt I reprised this morning.)
beautiful metaphor!
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Thanks!
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I can hear it. Reminds me of my younger life.
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Thanks. It wasn’t intentional when writing to this prompt but it turned into a sound-oriented poem.
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There is so much I love about this! What stands out the most is the ‘o’ repetition in open, hoping, howl, alone. Makes it feel like the poem is moaning/howling too!
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You noticed! Thanks!
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