2 poems by Robert McManes


one day
the trumpet sounds
it plays a sad tune
but now those fingers
play nothing
not a sound
and the silence
falls unnoticed
like leaves
on an autumn day
and you realize
how quick
the notes
and your mind
begin to fade
The Old Soul House
the old house
complete with an olden soul
antique plaster and lath
stained wooden floors
worn traffic patterns
frequented places
cracks and dings
stories told and retold
songs sung old
i imagine then
wonder what might
have been
but now i see the remains
bones laid bare
this place was something
someone’s ancestral home
the twinkle of yesteryear’s stars
but reality is today
and the hole is too deep
my shovel is too short
to fill this house grown old

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Jeremiah Walton

Jeremiah Walton is wary of writing a bio.

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