PoemsBrowse PoemsSlamsFresh DropEchoes
LearnWriting TipsPoetry TermsPoets & ArtistsBooksFor Teachers
ExplorePoetry GenomePoem MapEchoesTake ActionGroups
AboutWrite a PoemDonateSign UpLog In

Industrial America


Rolling were the Hills, so Green

Flowers and Blades of which I have never Seen

The small, red Sheds standing Proud, a Mill

A Picture of a Scene- so Still

But

Fungi clouds Background the Scene

Sloppish Mud of a different Green

Steel heads dot Along the Ground

I Sting and Cower from the Industrial sound

©All Rights Reserved

Something wrong with this poem?

Share

Replies are closed for this poem.

owenhannon2

A teen that is dedicated to poetry and its role to guide and help the lives of readers, not to lecture them on cliches.

View all poems →

Your Poem's Voice

See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.

Comments (0)

No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.

Log in to leave a comment.