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Philadelphia
by Carissa DeweyA sea of opaque cobble stones
each begging their escape,
crawl under our soles.
A dark horse,
feet echoing across,
silently keeping the beat
of this block.
A dark man, dressed in an old polyester suit,
fingers his rusted trumpet.
The sound cementing out feet,
we ingest his lonely talent.
Rhythms:
others passing, rolling cars,
emerging clouds, gentle leaves
adding to the beat
to what we can only hear.
An open park, with a stone path
creates a photograph.
Friends gliding ahead
as I stay behind and watch
their backsidemysideourside.
Falls wind is quiet between my
bare legs
and I breathe in.
ThenthereI believeI seerushing
the dirt between the stones
what the photograph overlooks
(which cradles the art)
ignored.
is shown to me.
06/10/2006 Author's Note: I wrote this a while back, but came across it and did some much needed work on it, still not there for me yet. none of them are :)
Posted on 02/05/2008
Copyright © 2024 Carissa Dewey
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 02/05/08 at 04:22 AM Well, it's certainly there for me. Beautiful language and line after memorable line. You really know what the meaning of the word sharp is. |
| Posted by Coleman Demiurge on 02/05/08 at 06:59 AM Quite impressive I think. Both vivid and poignant, these five little stanzas speak in droves... Really excellent work. |
| Posted by Joe Cramer on 02/05/08 at 11:59 AM I enjoyed this.... wonderful imagery and quite thought provoking..... |
| Posted by Ken Harnisch on 02/08/08 at 12:48 PM Keep working if you want..art is never over till the artist is satisfied, and that sometimes lasts forever. Myself, I like this a lot, as is..and we seem to share an affection for Ms. Millay |
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