making notes i am
sorting words, stacking cards
one dog barking
i glance up at dark blurs
some birds boring blindly
misted into running low grey clouds
on the hill above, the Gianicolo,
a cannon fires a wisp of grey into the chill
the city beyond hears the signal and knows it Is noon
we board a bus of content silence, scarves and caps
off for a bite of lunch, our own words begin, blend,
weave and overlap with the others
then a little walking
through the crowds
a lot of talking
don’t hear what they’re saying
making plans I suppose,
some gesturing, pointing
laughing young women
heads together
recount social victories
few small children pulling against their mothers
today many little wrapped ones in blankets
lulled to silence in four wheeled strollers
temperature is dropping
who is content?
some calm hangs poised over complacency
after evening buses slow, then cease
overnight becomes the soundless
when imagination is the only border
Sunday, January 31, 2010
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1 comment:
I enjoyed reading this poem,and its overall effect: contemplative, with perhaps a bit of melancholy mixed in with the peace, perhaps because of the change in weather, the chill and the grey skies; and it is beautifully expressed.
I like this line:
"our own words begin, blend,
weave and overlap with the others"
and the concluding lines:
"overnight becomes the soundless
when imagination is the only border."
And other lines like: "lulled to sleep in four wheeled strollers" and "misted into running low grey clouds"
I've read this poem aloud to enjoy the music in the flow of the words. I like the title, too: january emptied out, which begins to establish the atmosphere of the poem. I also like how you move the reader through the city, right along with you, and allow the observations you've shared to convey the mood.
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