Hallowed Ground – a poem by J. Culain Fripp

Hallowed Ground

Traffic is heavy tonight,
phantom commuters
tramping unbent
blades of
frosted grass

Between my back fence
and the neighbor’s
distant wall

The motion sensor
is flashing its
lightship warning

Imminent collision
between seen and unseen

Hard, suburban landfall
and turbulent sea
of eternity

Determined, busy specters
translucent heads down
invisible briefcases
clutched at their sides

The silent crowd hurries
across our lawn
on errands of
irrelevant importance

I stand transfixed
in the witching hour
as the strobe of the
spectral radar
burns a relief
of this demonic traffic
on the vinyl parchment
of my home

Hastening to purgatory,
heads bent to their
wrist-watches, as they mark
their timeless journey

Rush hour ended,
the screech owl returns,
settling nervously
in the old pine

Blinking at one or two
tardy spirits,
as dawn breaks
on the suburban horizon


J. Culain Fripp is an Asheville, NC native who now lives in Geneva, Switzerland. Over 25 years dedicated to working, observing and reflecting on life in conflict and crisis-affected environments, internal and external, he has returned time and again to poetry as a journalistic practice. Most recently, his work has appeared in Rue Scribe. Instagram @Kalevala04

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