Southwester bends
the rooted matrons across the road,
their russet frills stream, strain,
hold fast.
A child in a red hat walks by,
anchored
by his father’s grasp.
Traffic flows against the wind,
propelled by an unnatural force
over tarmac the colour of
a lowering sky.
Perched on a coffee-house stool,
an old woman gazes out the window,
waits for rain.
GM, September 2007
September 30, 2007 at 10:12 pm |
Beautiful…
September 30, 2007 at 11:55 pm |
really beautiful!
October 1, 2007 at 12:49 am |
Oh, very nice. I especially liked the ‘rooted matrons’ and the child ‘anchored by his father’s grasp’. I felt like I was going to be blown away.
October 1, 2007 at 5:01 am |
nice read. I like these lines:
//A child in a red hat walks by,
anchored
by his father’s grasp.//
October 1, 2007 at 5:42 pm |
Cory – Thanks for visiting and your comment. Starbucks, not a favourite place of mine to visit, afforded this opportunity to observe while listening to “I Feel Good” piping in the background and sipping a bitter cup. G
Misty – thank you!
pmousse – Thanks! – it was a spectacularly windy time, a good time to pend comfortably indoor, just watching. G
Nita – children are marvellous to observe, especially how they are held safe from being harmed. Thanks for the comment. i was thinking of you asking if wrote poetry. This one is for you – it would be nice to spend company with you to hear your observations about such small things.
G
October 1, 2007 at 8:25 pm |
This is lovely. Moving.
I love these lines:
Perched on a coffee-house stool,
an old woman gazes out the window,
waits for rain.
October 3, 2007 at 6:06 pm |
A beautiful poem. Do you have any more you’d like to share with us?
Enrique
October 4, 2007 at 8:43 pm |
quoinmonkey – your comment means so much to me! Thank you. I suspect, like me you are nearing old age. For me poetry written by others can be a surprise and an affirmation of my own thoughts, feelings and perceptions. Do you find this to be a case for you also? G
October 4, 2007 at 8:46 pm |
enrique – I am glad you liked this. Occasionally i write my own forms of free-form poems, have not yet learned to test myself with writing to traditional forms. But i have still some time to learn and stretch in my attempts – i hope!
G
October 6, 2007 at 10:31 pm |
These verses stand out for me:
their russet frills stream, strain,
hold fast.
I’m reminded of an Edward Hopper painting when I read this poem, one of those isolated moments, kind of lonely, nothing’s happening except a moment of perception, which really is everything.
October 7, 2007 at 4:10 am |
Suburban thanks.
Come to India!! It would indeed be lovely to meet you. I don’t even know what you look like!