0180 Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

At the far edge of the expanding cemetery
in its uncertain spiritual limbo,
its small gravestones re-emerge only in late summer
like a clipped coat, the tall grass annually machined; of

by Michael Shepherd Click to read full poem

Comments (6)

Beautiful poem, Michael. Lovely imagery. There might need to be some occasional squirrels around, too. -chuck
Every time I visit our cemetries, and where I am they are arid and dry, I think the dead don't lie here... they lie in the memories of the people who miss them. As usual your poem gives me much to think about.
i've noticed a pattern of exceptional poems from the writers of the British Isles. this continues that pattern. enjoyed the rabbit stuff - and the punchline at the end was bold and profound.
Michael, I can't even begin to think about the message here, I'm just swimming in these rich, delicious words! ! Beautiful writing. Regards, Gina.
Dear Michael: A lovely poem, here. The sense of connectedness and intercommunication amongst all species is a wonderful thought and so much gets lost in the translation because we, arrogant humans, fail to listen and give proper attention. Best, Hugh
good poem iliked it...keep up the good work... nicci