in the debris of a life
there is never found comfort or
useful desire for its remains
like stale pizza molding
among scattered paper
a collage embellished
by cans of flat soda
rank crumbs upon the floor
a child has been here
with a chant of rhymes
stories of the big bad wolf
the worst kind of evidence
of unfulfilled destiny
is there an answer to be found
derived from this discarded past
no beautiful swarm of butterflies
no thrill of accomplishment
no ship of love at the dock no
they have skirted this room
avoided the attracted sting of flies
pests laying their larvae of criticism
it is the insects reward to devour
feast upon ones disparate offal
to consume the rubbish collected
in the debris of a life
Donald Harbour Poetry
“I hope I can be the autumn leaf, who looked at the sky and lived. And when it was time to leave, gracefully it knew life was a gift.” ~ Dodinsky
Donald Harbour Poetry 
Im very glad that I found your blog.I love your syle of writing!!Keep up the great work.
LikeLike
Rather wistful, Donald. We all have bits of refuse laying around in the corners of our lives.
LikeLike
If only we could get rid of all the debris in our lives!
timeless flies search for fries
LikeLike
I too enjoy your style Donald. This is a thought provoking piece here. Love and Light, Sender
LikeLike
I echo Gautami, and Derrick – this poem carries with it a kind of tristesse d’automne, waiting for bonfire night.
LikeLike
I do sense your wish to return to more natural ways, where the crap doesn’t pile up mainly because there are so few of us remaining. It is quite obvious that we are not qualified to clean up after ourselves.
LikeLike
I find a certain sadness in your poem, almost a yearning. The things we leave behind us, often still contain some element of our energies. I would hope that at least some of it would not be considered debris, but something more useful.
Elizabeth
LikeLike
Nice job evoking a hint of sadness by showing the “debris of life.” Very nice.
LikeLike
love the ending,
very tickling poem, beautifully constructed.
my entry is here
LikeLike
stale pizza? who would he waste pizza? 🙂 see how distracted i get. 🙂
seriously, i love the line: a child has been here.
LikeLike
helloooooooooooo Donald….great to connect and read your words again….I agree about your style…i like it too…thanks for sharing and happy trails
LikeLike
‘debris of life’ is such a poignant phrase – to me. It speaks a world of submerged longing. Nicely crafted poem -this is a fine read, thoughtfully written.
LikeLike
ahhh it starts at childhood consumerism…. we love we eat we live…. left over pizza the shadow of lives lived… dorothy calling
LikeLike
That phrase “certain comfort” was beguiling. When I read your half-eaten scene I saw all the movies with bachelor-squalor filling the screen. Not that that matters, but I thought you might like to know where I was taken ;-).
LikeLike