Triangle roofs, watch towers,
five hundred year old steep walls,
cobblestone and marble
are lighted aslant.
River covered
by trembling zig-zags
carries a mystery, gleaming initials,
in the parchment of night.
Tree shadows,
the oblique obelisks
to the former dusks,
lean over the silver ink
almost touching the other bank.
Homeless sells his guitar.
It cries. Nylon strings are
strongly attached.
Fish scales of my days
are scattered just right.
My town and I are ready to ride.
Monuments hold the reins.
In a blink, we are winged and afar.
No highways, no gates, no tolls,
neither dollars, nor gold, nor bitcoins.
No streets, no ground beneath.
Memories are only stops,
resting points to pick up supplies.
Hopping from line to line,
searching for right words,
flying with Town, five hundred year old,
is my life and what I do.
Comments
very nice poetry
enjoyed it
Thank you.
Thank you.
A rustic painting in pastel
A rustic painting in pastel colors bringing past and present together...
it leaves me with an imprint of a:-
Homeless sells his guitar.
It cries. Nylon strings are
strongly attached.
addition of sounds would have made it even stronger is my opinion
...............................................................................
Thank you for reading.
Thank you for reading.
nice painting with words.
nice painting with words. sounds like you carry a certain town in your heart, everywhere you go.
thank you
thank you
Thank u 4 d final edit
what u can do
is to read it too
and I shall thank u
now what u want to do ...ask u....no ? mark U know now why!!!!
just read my
''WHEN''
that's what u ought to do
similarly
help edit it
and spell out the INSPIRATION
where it came from
What marvellous lines!-
"Memories are only stops,
resting points to pick up supplies."
I love exploring your world. It is so different to our harsh Australian light, no buildings more than a couple of hundred years old, our unforgiving, often deadly land and cities all glass and chrome.
я ревную
но не очень ревнивый
Ours is a grand and humbling land.
I feel that way about the
I feel that way about the exotic land of Australia, last fall I was riding horses in Colorado with a student from Australia. She is a gorgeous very strong and beautiful rider. When she gallops through the open blooming plain on her silver black horse she looks like madic creature. When
I think about Australia I imagine her. There were also local cawgirls but they look less wild.
I also like Australian accent, thanks to your reading. And Australian nature from books, so I am obviously dying to visit. And maybe consider this winter.
Oh yes and the poem is completely made up based on Escher's graphics and my memories of Cordoba, a town in Spain where I was the summer before.
Just because I have a big mean streak,
I'm really not a nice person-
https://www.planetdeadly.com/animals/sydney-funnel-web-spider-facts
We get lots of these in Sydney, they have been known to attack small cars.
hm, it looks like the one
hm, it looks like the one that lives in my room, i guess i have to spend more time with spiders to see the difference between benign fly-catchers and deadly hunters. Okay maybe I will go to Berlin instead.
It did beg a reading too,
I do believe you have picked up some meter. I hope I've done it some justice
https://soundcloud.com/neopoet/what-i-do-by-irene-riz
Oh and a pet peeve of mine, words, not numbers in poetry unless there is a strong reason for doing so. five hundred
Oh, can I share this one on Facebook?
I love your reading!!!
I love your reading!!!
First, I noticed the shape of the recording looks like precise simmetrical waves for each stanza.
At the end when I took off the rhythm has changed precisely the way I wanted!
I was afraid that the change will feel like a hiccup but it was smooth.
It is my honor if you share any of my poems, please do so. Thank you.
The number are corrected, you are certainly write about it.