The Rolling Apple Poem by Paul Storm
The Rolling Apple
I used to listen
to the retrenched scientist's
solitary monologues
pressed against the door
his lectures always beyond
my comprehension
his voice filled with certainty
full of wonderous
formulaic passion
my visits ceased
the day he rolled an apple
toward me
and
with escalating frustration
demanded it to return
Dear NPM, thanks for the coment. A simple thought can be a valued poetic line, don't you think? You'd think I've read too much Emily Dickenson (boring) . March is underated. I read a lot of your poems just now. They each end with the softness of a fallen feather. Quieted soul, freer to breath. Reading them helps. -Later, RD
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/17/2024 12:21:58 AM # 1.0.0.1119
NPM, this is the first of your poems I've read and I'll go and read some more and get bathed with the rolling paradox of life