I must preface this first....I am trying a new tactic...which I'm sure I will repost about later; but, the topic for this poem was given to me by a friend (he just said, write a poem about a park bench...so I did). I liked doing that; so, if any of you all have a topic...an idea, an object...anything...tell me and I will write about it. My best friend just sent me a doosie of a topic a couple of days ago...but hell, I'm gonna try to tackle his too.
Who knew that green had a smell...
grass, whistling with the blowing wind and
winding up to my nostrils, stinging; but,
in a good way.
On my park bench I wonder about others.
If they came to this conclusion
or if contentment was reached
through pure relaxation. It's easier that way.
But, with the breeze still bellowing in my mind,
it is beckoning a focus on now...
The other benches, staggered,
zig
zag
uneven.
A man (diagonal and to my left) sits
with his eyes fixated on the ground
like a child at a soccer game, staring blankly
at the grass, wondering which piece he will rip
out next...but the man...solemn.
No boredom is resonating in his eyes, rather
contemplation. Maybe mending the hardest part
of a broken heart.
My mind would go there.
To my right, an empty bench, warmly lit
in the Virginia sun, longing for another soul
in search of answers to life's questions, or,
more often than not, a getaway from hardship.
That must be the appeal.
Why else would seats be placed so obscurely,
with nothing to look at but openness?
Who would make their way to this field
just to sit on that bench?
Unless it had some appeal, some answer, or
some safety that a chair at home
just couldn't provide.
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