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He Be The Straw Death

Kenneth is a rural citizen of Hamilton, Ala., and has begun to observe life and certain things and people helping him to write about them.

A  depiction of a skeleton about to wield his scythe.

A depiction of a skeleton about to wield his scythe.

Welcome . . .Watch . . .Young Time Stop . . .

Evening lazy lights barely glimmer

He says come near, become me dimmer.

Bumbling over foot in black dirt field

Shading eyes trying to trust laughter’s yield.


Crow, the awkward, backward, black crow

Sleep gaze soundly all but hits me below.

He winks. He thinks time’s in crusty hand

Points to death’s horses stop simple band.


River Evil, no water attains, on knees I fail

Breathing with Straw Death the cold, cold bell.

Even the icy ground devours my feet

Eyes on Straw Death frozen so complete.


One field. One harvest of purity wine

Breathe once. Laugh twice. Gone sublime.

River drained. Mud remains. Crow’s asleep

Waving at Straw Death limps fading, creeping.

© 2020 Kenneth Avery