Gatsby World

I’d forgotten how it is here–
In this Gatsby world of excess,
all champagne and fur coats,
drenched in Opulent smiles
to match these enormous estates.
Perfection, except
no matter how white,
smiles never reach those eyes.
Joe is still there, in his grounds-
keeper’s shed, the best place
to hide. He is much the same,
with his paycheck and normal
warm eyes. His smile remains
small but true
as he tips his hat
and leaves each night
to return to the real world.

Leave a comment

A Hundred Falling Veils

there's a poem in every day

The Novel Bunch

aka: The Happy Bookers

Red Wolf Prompts

I came to where you were living, up a stair. There was no one there.--John Ashberry, "The New Higher"

typewriter rodeo

custom poems on vintage typewriters

A Poet in Time

One Poet's Writing Practice: Poems by Mary Kendall

Writing the Day

A Ronka Poetry Practice Since 2014

Invisible Horse

Living in the moment