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city of rivers
by H.M Stevensrise old motor city
like a feather
the wind just wont drop
not a flame or a light
that blinds and burns
because you get too close to its wanting
beyond a steady pulse or engine running
the gas will run out, the pulse is never steady
All your cracked concrete; ashed babies-
the former bounty of your glory
and innovation
The Great Detroit Mind
Your blue eyed dreams
From the notes of your musical
soul arrived
a generation!
an empire
built on the backs of poor
fake golden islands
cruisin' through the neighborhoods
in grave wheeled solitude
langstons dream and kozel's rock
stretching up to touch the sun
10/31/2008 Author's Note: updated 12/26
Posted on 10/31/2008
Copyright © 2024 H.M Stevens
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 11/01/08 at 12:18 AM So much to see and experience in and around Detroit. A sad demise to say the least!
You've caught the glory and travail and the twilight shadows poignantly and pointedly. |
| Posted by Scott Cadence on 11/01/08 at 04:25 PM I enjoyed reading this, vivid imagery. |
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