Backward, upside down banjos flicking notes at the clouds,
the old and young alike, enter in rounds.
Musicians stomping on a hearty stage,
what a wonderful, wild, wrangling rage!
Sunflower seed shells hit the dusty path of yesterday,
no time for days of dreary-teary-gray.
“Drinks on me, my lips need a jolt,”
said one rather rowdy adult.
Sassy guitar sounds rattle the rattlers rosy cheeks,
this is the most commotion anyone’s heard in weeks.
Dancing heels flirt under long colorful skirts,
men’s hairy chests boast through their shirts.
The smell of pies and tasty treats tickle young noses,
while boisterous boys and giggling girls strike poses.
About the Creator
Rowan Finley
Father. Academic Advisor. Musician. Writer. My real name is Jesse Balogh.
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insight
Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
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More stories from Rowan Finley and writers in Poets and other communities.
Political Thirty-Three
Inevitable? A woman named Good is lost. Unforgivable. * Note: I don't think that I have to explain this one to anyone noting recent news, but I have included a video link below for future generations who can still feel empathy and compassion for someone who got caught up in history. And I was just too angry to say more with this piece.
By Kendall Defoe 5 days ago in Poets
Comments (2)
I could almost hear the banjos and taste the pie! Yeehaw and yum! 🌻🥧🎶
Your imageries were so vivid. Such a beautifully written poem!