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The Violinist

by Lori St. George

Atop the Empire State building,
Jack stands.
His black form,
A Sinowy storm
Playing his violin.
A lion's whisper to the lambs.

Moaning and methodical,
He binds the night slowly.
A knee dropping gift,
In the major lift.
The snow
Falls gently into old New York.
A lovesong for all the lonely.

A gypsy cab stops to listen by the brooklyn bridge.
Somewhere in Montana a girl smiles from a bitter root ridge.

The Violinist plays on.

11/29/2010

Posted on 11/30/2010
Copyright © 2024 Lori St. George

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Stephan Anstey on 11/30/10 at 03:14 AM

LOVE that Lori.

Posted by George Hoerner on 11/30/10 at 02:40 PM

A very lovely write Lori which I hope will be followed by many more. I've been to New York and I've been to Montana and though there is a considerable distance between it seems that love can travel where it will.

Posted by V. Blake on 12/01/10 at 07:20 AM

This is certainly unlike anything I have ever read. Definitely nice to see some fresh thinking 'round these parts. Welcome to Pathetic, Lori!

Posted by Jasmine Sword-Mann on 12/04/10 at 06:46 AM

As we all must continue playing. Wonderful write, Lori! So glad to see you here. :)

Posted by Joe Cramer on 12/06/10 at 04:39 AM

... wonderful... welcome to Pathetic.....

Posted by Jim Benz on 12/07/10 at 08:50 PM

This is a wonderful poem.

Posted by Colleen Sperry on 12/09/10 at 11:40 PM

nice to read your work again..

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 02/20/11 at 05:11 PM

What a stage you have set here. Well crafted and lingering. Thank you.

Posted by Jody Pratt on 09/26/12 at 05:41 AM

You have a way with words.

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 03/28/13 at 01:46 PM

Congrats on POTD!

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