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| Gary Geniesse | Poetry |
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November 4, 1988
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All is quiet on the backrow front Like the foggy morning following a hunt The dogs barking only at programs unworking The terminals lie dormant, in a sense lurking. Slowly, like sun clearing fog from the air, The dogs gather barking as on scent of a hare Breaking the lines of entrenched chairs in passes Whispers of war yield to talk from the masses. The battles are private, yet shared in a way Dogs playfully biting while hunting their prey Persuing their game long into the night Tending the wounded, or those within sight. As the last torch light fades, the dogs retreat home Or perhaps to a different battlefield roam Once again silence where was battle's brunt All is quiet on the backrow front. ©1988 James (Gary) Geniesse |
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This page last changed on April 25, 2004. Copyright ©2004, James (Gary) Geniesse |
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