written by: Michael Ball
ready to give up their green,
ready to retire after working
spring and summer,
twinkling through window screens
in dawn breezes.
Not yet brown, they chatter
as their newly stiff edges rub.
Supple green tree leaves rustle.
Michael Ball scrambled from daily and weekly papers through business and technical pubs. Satisfaction and feeling like a writer came through blogging and podcasting, mostly political. Born in OK and raised in rural WV, he became more citified in Manhattan and Boston. He joined the Hyde Park Poets Workshop two years ago, and will never again write a manual or help system. He has moderate success placing poems in print and online.
Latest posts by Michael Ball (see all)
- Separate Strands - March 14, 2023
- Not at 24 - November 22, 2022
- My Ghost - October 20, 2022