PoetryPix
depictions by the rule of thirds; descriptions mostly freestyle words
Growing strangers
The dusk burned evenly into a warm brown toast
street by street lamps gave hints of here and there
grew carbon copies that slid instinctively along pavements
only the etched, shady ladies stood back to scoop
strangers unfamiliar with the sex of theft
The stray dogs sauntered; always a stone’s throw from scraps
street dwellers taking coin and curses in equal measure
grew to love midnight instrumentals fired by alcohol
only one string of a busking line left in their morning cups
strangers make the strangest friends
‘The end is nigh’ billboard man slept in his walkabout warning
street comedians who’d tailed off his message with a titillating t
grew sombre as the message dawned on their desecration
only a God can scatter the wind and weep up a tempest to see
strangers growing on stony soil and every street
Pimp these words series -using a poet’s opening lines for inspiration as here where title and first word repeats are from Eric Baus’s ‘Burning Zither‘. I may not comprehend this neo-surrealistic poet but I savour his imagery….
…As well as the community of fellow poets in the Poetry Pantry
28 Comments on “Growing strangers”
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Poetry in every day life…………
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you have to look for it
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Hi Laura, I really enjoyed this powerful and image laden poem, thanks for sharing it with us.
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thank you for your very appreciative comment John
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I love writing about cities myself, they too are like forests where strange creatures roam the night and safety is found in neither bright lights nor shadows.
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no choice really as the city is my playground –
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You had me at the opening lines! There is a lot of depth and power in this poem.
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an inviting smell to open with – glad you stopped in Sanaa
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Good read here, Laura. Thanks for sharing
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and thank you for reading Julian
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luv the hurrah ending
“only a God can scatter the wind and weep up a tempest to see
strangers growing on stony soil and every street”
much love…
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Hurrah!
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I love the dusk burning into warm brown toast. Perfection! I enjoyed the scene you painted so clearly, Laura………smiled at the wit who added a “t” onto “nigh”. LOL.
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‘The end is night’ 😉
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The under belly of the city has stories to be told. Your poem is beautifully descriptive.
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Thank you Beverly
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There is poetry of street… sometimes in the grit, but if you look, it’s there.
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Poetry is people!
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Yes, there is poetry in the street, in the rare bits of nature, the trash in the gutter…the evening warming to toast – I love that line.
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Thank you – that line was the hardest
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This is reminiscent of Bruce Springsteen’s song, The Streets of Philadelphia. I don’t know, it just felt like I walking through the streets, taking in all of its features and traits. Wonderful write!
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Don’t know that song but I like the association – many thanks
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The dusk burned evenly into a warm brown toast Great line Nice how you bring the city alive
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thank you Marja – my view of the city opens on an unepectedly (for me) warm note!
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Whoa! You are on a roll. 🙂
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Baus set the ball rolling 😉
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A fascinating, if bleak vision.
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the city can appear bleak but there is toast and comedy too 😉
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