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Open Poetry #44
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It was at that Time and long, long ago (rp)
| Open Poetry #44 |
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It was at that Time and long, long ago (rp) |
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WindWalker11 Junior Member
since 2008-12-24
Posts 41 |
A black sky reluctantly reflects faded lights: it could be harbinger of an icy Prairie drizzle or maybe a blizzard of snow, who’s to say all he knows for certain is it’s all the colder because this is the city and it’s only been a month since he left the country when the leaves were turning red and yellow and through denuded hedgerows one could see the combines hungrily searching for late harvests. Without plan he walks along a poorly lit street, unsure, thinking perhaps he shouldn’t be there at all thinking also that not being there would mean not hearing, or seeing; not observing and remaining ignorant of a way of life billions experience, endure and he knows nothing of. He passes a bar, a drunk staggers past him, he dances out of his swaying path to be rewarded with a round of curses, Get used to it he thinks to himself under an uncertain light, ‘it’s the city, don’t let it intimidate, and forget the ‘always ready to offer help’ for although they need it, they don’t want it for they are afraid, and their fear has turned to anger: a black, involuntary anger cultured in blind hatred. He passes an apartment, a man is yelling at a door, pacing the wet cement walk on the ground floor. A woman shouts obscenities and a child wails. Lewd swearing accompanies verbal threats; a door slams and the man backs away, turning slowly back toward the bar—his second home and in that moment he becomes a leaning shadow beside a creosoted power pole—the unseen watcher hands clenched tightly, heart full of tears watching the drunk going to keep faith with his bottle. He walks on into sprawling suburbs of row houses that all look the same silhouetted in the dark, stunted trees and shrubs creating ambiguous shadows on dried-grassed lawns waiting to hide under snow. A dog barks behind a fence, a cat hisses and snarls, and on the far side of the river a whistle blows a shift change at the brewery. Further along the broken sidewalk and frost heaved pavements of un-kept streets a row of slum-lord housing outfaces him, dark phantoms protecting their sleeping ghosts for another night—if no one comes by, if no one shoots. A light smell of garbage endures the cold, mixed with spilled gasoline fumes from a wreck without front wheels or doors—a sad old Buick that has already told a story no one remembers until now—for he listens and it tells him of the drugged up teens in the back seat and the engendered child—now dead. It was at that time and long, long ago that the stranger walked a city’s cold-shouldered streets and sought to see into the heart of the people, but found only fear and rejection. It was at that time and long, long ago that the stranger turned from the city’s unfriendly streets, looking for other places where the people lived but everywhere he went he found the people busy building another part of the city, buying and selling shares in corporate misery. It was at that time and long, long ago that the stranger left the city with a sad sigh, returning to the country where he died quietly just before the people came with another section of the city to establish themselves in depravity and when they burned down the farmhouse they also burned his diary and his notes. |
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| © Copyright 2009 WindWalker11 - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Robert E. Jordan Member Rara Avis
since 2008-01-25
Posts 8541Philadelphia, Pennsylvania |
Yo Country boy, or girl, or whatever, You don't know anything about the city. I've been farmed out to the country, I hated it. Bobby [This message has been edited by Robert E. Jordan (01-07-2009 10:11 PM).] |
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Marchmadness Member Rara Avis
since 2007-09-16
Posts 9271So. El Monte, California |
A sad and touching reality, WW, a reality that hit me hard when I visited the Northwest a few years ago and saw what it had become since I was a child. Your poems tell it like it really is, no head in the sand. Ida |
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secondhanddreampoet Member Ascendant
since 2006-11-07
Posts 6394a 'Universalist' ! |
Apparently some folks that post here DO have their heads in the sand! |
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ethome Member Patricius
since 2000-05-14
Posts 11858New Brunswick Canada |
Reminds me of the old cliche, " you can take the boy out of the country but you can't take the country out of the boy." I'm a country boy myself but there certainly is many aspects of the city that I love. A trip to the city can be so exciting but living there is too much 'dog eat dog' for me. You have described some of the depraved conditions of the city very well here but I know it's not all bad. I live 8 miles out of the city past the suburbs and you can hear the wind whisper softly at night under the moon and stars. It calls , peace to you in this turbulent old world......AND that's hard to find these days. I'm far out enough that I have to have satelite internet so I am talking to you directly out of the sky..... Take care Eric |
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Earth Angel Member Empyrean
since 2002-08-27
Posts 40215Realms of Light |
One Who Walks With the Wind, you have adroitly and vividly, taken your readers on a walk that will not easily be forgotten. Nor should it be.  EA |
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Robert E. Jordan Member Rara Avis
since 2008-01-25
Posts 8541Philadelphia, Pennsylvania |
Yo WindWalkier11, I don't even like to visit the country. It brings back too many bad memories. Bobby--depraved city boy |
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secondhanddreampoet Member Ascendant
since 2006-11-07
Posts 6394a 'Universalist' ! |
Some of us moved [and/or returned] to the so-called 'country' to escape various horrors of many (most?) cities! |
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Robert E. Jordan Member Rara Avis
since 2008-01-25
Posts 8541Philadelphia, Pennsylvania |
Yo Secondhanddreampoet, Yeah, if ya can't stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen. Bobby |
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