The Ranger’s Grave

The Rangers Grave short poem

Photo by andryn2006

My tomb is spread with bear’s garlic
I was once a scourge of smoke
the margins of the forest
are lined with sharpest light
city folk shriek and bleed

my sepulcher is a woven oval
ancient beeches clutching shoulders
crooks of their fingers mossy
the rain runs brown to the ground
loam happy drinks its tea

my ghost is sung awake
most mornings by randy thrushes
I rise as a mist then shed the damp
watch invisible from the canopy
my gravestone vanishing in duff

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GlenDodge

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a poet from Seattle Washington USA. His poetry has appeared in print in publications such as Bellowing Ark, Point Nopoint, and most recently in Contraposition magazine. When not writing poetry he is a Human Resources professional, a repentant glutton, and a novelist specializing in the weird-fiction genre.
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Preeti
Member

Filled with a certain haunting sorrow…but I liked the poem…

wpDiscuz

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