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Whisky Street
| Open Poetry #45 |
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Whisky Street |
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Tomer Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168Michigan |
He sat staring With his chin thrust in ice On the wood carved bench As the people with shopping bags And backpacks scaled along The townÕs sidewalks. Sitting and waiting, Staring and fidgeting, Listening for the hint Of a childÕs scream Or a willow branch falling from the high oak tree; But it wasnÕt to be. It was a passive sigh Like his shadow that Watched the baby stroller roll by, Rolling along the soft space That saw his feet rest alongside the ants scattering inside the cracks. His eyes began to become a fixture Amongst the dusk that ensued; So the cars kept moving But he never moved. Never could he jot his eyes Through a novels carefree mood, Or share his thoughts with the planes That moved. He was idle, Idle with the blue street blues. |
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| © Copyright 2009 Tomer Fried - All Rights Reserved | |||
Jeffrey Carter
since 2000-04-08
Posts 2367State of constant confusion! |
Nice descriptive writing Tomer .... will definitely have to search more of you |
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