Particle of dust rides around an old record player track like a jockey on a horse.
Mind spins and traces back its steps and missteps from life’s beginning to end.
Drafted warriors, huddled in trenches of words piled on top of words.
Screeching train, stops dramatically,
unexpectedly, doors slide open stories.
From hobo to army to jockey,
now he whispers his stories of three lives.
On his back screened in porch,
with his cats who listen.
With their nine lives,
their eyes fade and then they glisten.
Every blue moon,
his buddy from the war comes,
he reminds him of words that were buried down deep.
About the Creator
Rowan Finley
Father. Academic Advisor. Musician. Writer. My real name is Jesse Balogh.
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Comments (4)
Wow, amazing poem. Love the flow of memories and the strong emotions it create.
This poem is such a vibe! It’s like you’re spinning memories on an old record, mixing past lives and stories in such a raw, emotional way. Keep it going 💖
Wow. This is a great piece - loved the sitting with cat and it’s nie lives and the friend who comes and brings out his words. Fabulous work!!
Such a chill vibe! A cool mix of life's twists, memories, and a cat’s patient ears. Love how the past rides along like that dust on a record. So smooth!😊✨