Poetry: Forayer

That’s me—

One single meek marauder—

Just a

Homeward-bound scavenger

Wandering over wrecked pastures,

Scrambling up sodden mountains,

Foraging in broken fields,

Biding my time in the barrens,

Sunburned under ample skies.

Always finding


More or less.

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3 Responses

  1. You acomplish a lot with very little here, I like the sense of intimacy and isolation you build. It’s playful and I relate to the feeling of wandering and wish I could do it more myself.

  2. I love your poem. It’s kind of my dream place. Calming, interesting, and solitary. Where I want to be. Thanks

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