Winter Night in Midtown
34th Street
is glazed in sleet
and the reflected lights
of the city dissolve
in the wetness.
New York
has no face
on nights like these,
just umbrella bobs
and collars turned
against the damp
and chill.
The city is a poem
and winter is writing
a dark new verse
not fully understood
until morning reveals
not fully understood
until morning reveals
the metaphor
SMG
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5 comments:
You know what, SMG? This is damn good poetry. And the picture is picture-perfect for the piece. I get it. And the two compliment each. I like that you kept the piece short. It was/is powerful in my eyes and my ears. Great write my man, great write.
ha. wicked last stanza man....a city with no face, i like how you put that...the new dark verse though not understood until morning revealing the metaphor...that rocks...
love the morning revealing the metaphor...the winter writing new dark verse..heck yes...she def. is a poem...smiles
Excellent, captures mood and feel of city in the sleet quite well.
Great post! Loved the images your poetry evokes...especially since I love NYC and have been no stranger even in the bad weather. Am eager to see what you come up with next.
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