sunset tunnel


sunset tunnel

end of world
planned pre-extinction
puzzled driver won’t return

no more ginger-filled
usual morning cup
postponed indefinitely

tears burned
evening light
white-fronted entryways

slowly spilling
down ragging river

stretched pathway
leads to invariable demise
sunset tunnel


Written for:

the imaginary garden with real toads

The Sunday Challenge ~ Featuring Kat Mortensen

Photo Credit: Kat Mortensen © 2012 of Poetikat

About zongrik

For those of you who do not know the handle "zongrik," that would be Bat-Ami Gordin. Most people call me "Tammy." Bat-Ami means "daughter of my nation" in Hebrew. It's a heavy name to carry around. I answer to either name. I also answer to "mama." Some Basic Things about me: Animal lover, mom, poet/writer, dramatic soprano, photographer, teacher/tutor, CERT/Technician and, oh yeah, aerospace engineer. I consider myself "The Astro-Poet." To learn more about the origins of the word "zongrik" see whats-a-zongrik?

Posted on March 24, 2012, in imaginary garden with real toads and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 13 Comments.

  1. Love the bridge image and the feeling of goimg to a place quite differnt with no return trip. Beautiful poem.

  2. Thank you for using my photo to create such a dramatic and lovely poem! I love the title and the way the verses feel like haiku but flow into each other. “down ragging river” is my favourite line.


  3. great reading and great picture want to go for a walk

  4. You have created a very surreal feel in this piece – well suited to the image.

  5. a beautiful setting for such a painful ending…nice work…btw this is Susie from

  6. The clipped style exactly fits the subject matter. Impressive.

  7. Beautifully done and delightfully chilling!

  8. lots going on here too… sorry about the mirror thing… I don’t look in one now days… it was probably an esteem thing… too bad you were part of it

  9. Not sure I would want to go down this sunset tunnel but it is very intriguing. I like the mysterious nature of this poem.

  10. Well now…..maybe if we hold hands when we cross, none of this will happen….if it does, apparently I will be buying the beer in hell. You cross first…scream once if it hurts…scream twice if its so freaky I wont be able to handle it…don’t scream at all and I won’t know what to do…damnit…I am the biggest chicken. Great write.

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