First draft composed on February 18, 1999. Second draft January, 2009.
Today is the kind of day
to think of obscure streets,
steaming and bending into wreckage.
To pull some
breath from beneath
the skin of the city,
a bit of air
that brings us back to grapevines
that once twisted here.
Look,
there may be a vision
draped over the streetlamp
there, surrounded by
the puckered fog.
Listen
to what coils in dust
below the reconstructed.
There may be a memory
hidden beneath the broken
phone booth:
a touch of a soft finger,
a few notes on strings ,
a singing that has never
really stopped.
6 comments:
I love Baudelaire; this poem certainly does him justice.
"the skin of the city" Wow! And the last 9 lines and their atmosphere will stay with me. I can almost touch the texture of the words.
Through such words, I can but only feel such.I am there, enveloped in the smog.
'There may be a memory
hidden beneath the broken
phone booth:
a touch of a soft finger,
a few notes on strings ,
a singing that has never
really stopped'
I am liking this, especially; you.
Beautifully scripted! And thanks for your comment on my blog. How did you come across it?
Thank you all.
Smita, I came across your blog on one of the other blogs I follow. I believe you responded to a poem on Caught in the Stream.
love it. when i first began writing it was with poetry. i still go back to it from time to time.
i'm following you now. feel free to pop into mine.
nice meeting you.
Thank you, Kelly. Welcome to my blog.
I will stop by your place for sure.
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