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Late Summer

entry picture

Driving at midnight 

to my father's house

listening to Neil Young quietly

the warm air billowing 

the muddied scent

of threshed fields seasoned with rain,

thinking I know each turn

of this road by heart,

familiar as a conversation

you know every word to

before it begins,

the road unravelling

like a long sentence

of someone who talks

with no purpose,

I think I could close my eyes

just for a moment 

or switch off these lights 

and still find my way,

just like the owl 

who materialised momentarily

in the headlights,

whiter than a ghost,

before spiriting back to dark.

🌷(6)

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Comments

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Tom Harding

Sun 20th Aug 2017 23:53

Thank you all, some very kind words...

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Paul Waring

Sat 19th Aug 2017 09:56

I really like this Tom, lovely idea and imagery.

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raypool

Fri 18th Aug 2017 16:24

I just feel there is a kind of overspill of thoughts into the wonderful sense of being adrift in familiarity , and the first line may hold a key as a father sets the life in motion - and the poem is about that too. We carry so much and you have lightly presented it but with so much infusion of feeling.
Nice, Tom.

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Fri 18th Aug 2017 15:55

Your usual mastery of the simple image made golden by your imagination, and then sympathetically encapsulated by your creative imagery. Tom, you are a fine writer.

Yes, I know that sentence is weird. But, never mind. It might have been worse. Excellent photo to accompany the work.

Frances Macaulay Forde

Fri 18th Aug 2017 01:53

A very 'easy' poem - enjoyed it tremendously. Thank you, Tom.

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