near Swift’s Creek

the withered trees
tell me
what the green
cleared pastures won’t

the jagged teeth
the ghosted stumps
of one-time forest

what’s left
is blue
on distant
rising
slopes

a taste of mesmer dust
hovering
until you
until I
walk inside its spell
and take a deep breath
of forest

a little township
prides itself

still
a frontier
timber town

but
lying on their sides
in stacks
the proof
described as

lumber

and the rotten teeth
once left behind
still stand
ragged
beyond any last lingering
of mystery


© Frank Prem, 2017

December 2017 Poem #29 tba

5 thoughts on “near Swift’s Creek

    • HI Anne. Yes, I often wonder at the complete absence of regard there has been for what was regarded as either resource or impediment.

      In my own area we have nice enough forest areas that it’s a pleasure ot visit, but all was completely denuded in the hunt for gold, back in the day. Pictures of the time are quite shocking.

      End days.

      Liked by 1 person

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