“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
Dining out in broad daylight
From behind the glass wall,
you can see it all from there-
the horizon, of course
vast.
Crystal clinks in the sharp
busy air, the noon rays
get in, somehow.
White linens, lemons and Jazz,
a breezy air the pelicans cruise,
forgetting it's Tuesday.
Ice water in goblets gratis
bread before salad, indulgences
flowers on food, eating our cake.
Reserved
murmurs accompany
a cackling laugh,
which barges through, interrupting
-the ambiance-
Who is watching Who?
Crazy gums with dirty fingernails
talks nearby, asking questions, I think,
to the blue sky
the grey ocean, is stoic.
Retired and grey,
they too test the cement benches.
Lazy days and costumes, all passersby
on either side of the unshatterable glass-
repast is served.
Image By Islandyachtclub (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
And then...
Change is like that strong smell of cut grass or chopped wood that stops you still. Patterns, a symbol can be an illegible sign, at first...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
Today seems like a good day to burn a bridge or two. The sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it. In California...
-
This world is not for breath for feelings also come and go. As hard and light as Push and pull Go. Busy hands and bees-electricity, alter...
No comments:
Post a Comment