Seeing a storm-blown shingle reminded me of this, last summer.


Raising the Roof

Just before dawn,
Before the hard heat of the day,
Ladders rattle against the eaves.

Then gritty scraping of old shingles,
Faint fluttering as they are thrown off,
The sudden falling into the ground,
Curled like animals dead on the road.

The creaking groan of old nails
And the moaning agony of old wood
Being ripped from its rotted roots.

And above them,
Without a sound,
Without destroying anything,
The roof of morning is raised.




Poetry by countryfog
Read 494 times
Written on 2011-02-22 at 15:20

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
I'm with the others. This poem is very lush with images and sounds. Great finish, too.
2011-02-23


shells
Such strong visuals here and to tie them in with the glory of nature takes skill, you have it in abundance, the final stanza - superb.
2011-02-22


Rob Graber
Great imagery here!
2011-02-22



Almost like a ballet....
graceful and yet fearful
in its unique way
2011-02-22


ngaio Beck
I admire your allegorical proficiencies, or,(you write good stuff)
2011-02-22