Thursday, August 23, 2018

a Poem with an E.E. Cummings start

in the street of the sky
night walks scattering poems

small whiskey bottles empty  
of their drink and littering for the street sweepers
used cigarette buts
longing for some unfortunate souls 
they'll be smoked until fingers hot drop them into dried grass

the sky is bleak with sadness pockets of gray soggy socks
cast off as carriers
of disease
maggots
dread sickness looms watery eyes
eyes that never see the sun

night is sorrowed shakes drops from the whisky bottles
no sleep there can be
noise
bright lights rowdy folk
heads on grungy pillows toss turn and vomit more

arising from the ilk 
night 
walks down the filthy street  
stumbling on
cracks where weeds trying to flower grow 
breathing bodies passed out 
laying on 
wilted brown grass

those awake reciting scattered poems they find
waiting
for the moon that never comes
coffee houses 
open as night fades and dawn cracks 
wine or coffee 
they take their pick


street
under
sky
at
night
crawls
walks
tries
scattering
of
poems
 _ _ _ _

- Photo and Poem Copyright, © Jimmiehov 2012 and 2018, All Rights Reserved ~~ Alley cat found 2012 in an alley during our visit to Dubrovnik, Croatia (link).
- I'm linked with Sanaa Rizvi in the Imaginary Garden at  http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/08/on-edge-of-starry-night.html?m=1
- Sanaa has posted a nice e.e. cummings poem at that Site. We are to take cue from his last line which I have used as my title tonight.

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13 Comments:

At Friday, August 24, 2018 2:08:00 AM, Blogger Kim Russell said...

Jim, this has to be my favourite poem of yours! I especially love the lines:
'the sky is bleak with sadness pockets of gray soggy socks'
and
'those awake reciting scattered poems they find
waiting
for the moon that never comes'.

 
At Friday, August 24, 2018 3:37:00 AM, Blogger Rosemary Nissen-Wade said...

A scene very well painted by your words. (I used to live in a city where such scenes might be found.)

 
At Friday, August 24, 2018 4:00:00 AM, Blogger Sanaa Rizvi said...

Wowww💞 this is absolutely stunning, Jim! Especially love; "those awake reciting scattered poems they find waiting for the moon that never comes." Passion-filled write 😊

 
At Friday, August 24, 2018 10:18:00 AM, Blogger Sherry Blue Sky said...

Wonderfully descriptive. I love the sky bleak with sadness.

 
At Friday, August 24, 2018 11:14:00 AM, Blogger Helen said...

You were inspired ~ and it shows!!

 
At Friday, August 24, 2018 11:42:00 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

"they'll be smoked until fingers hot drop them into dried grass"

this is an absolutely stellar line Jim! it's word perfect for what often happens and sets the scene, along with the littered whiskey bottles, of a bleak side of city (now creeping into the wilder spaces too) life and what it means to be on the fringes, the edges, the homeless ...

"the sky is bleak with sadness pockets of gray soggy socks"
another phenomenal line .... it is so atmospheric ...

"arising from the ilk
night
walks down the filthy street
stumbling on
cracks where weeds trying to flower grow"

oh holy ambiance in this cracked, bleak scene ....


those awake reciting scattered poems they find
waiting
for the moon that never comes
coffee houses
open as night fades and dawn cracks
wine or coffee
they take their pick


brilliant ....

this Jim, is by far, one of the best of your poems Jim -
you've written from the heart, from observations, from a place where you haven't tried to self-censor yourself or restrict yourself to what you "think" a poem must be, fitting into clipped lines etc. or forms, and so, for me, personally, even as you've chosen a "darker" aspect of life to showcase, you've done so with incredible energy, passion and some truly amazing verse. This Jim, is where you shine. (and I hope you don't take offense at this, because I don't mean it in a bad way at all - but you are a story-teller Jim, it's clear in your comments, and you should consider writing more from this place of your spirit, because this is "your voice" - and you can always edit and revise as necessary, but damn - this is a most excellent piece!)

 
At Friday, August 24, 2018 1:47:00 PM, Blogger Magaly Guerrero said...

I'm with Sherry, love the vivid descriptions. I can practically see night tripping over all the mess. Poor lady, our dear night.

 
At Friday, August 24, 2018 2:29:00 PM, Blogger Vicki Rogers said...

I enjoyed reading this very descriptive poem.

 
At Friday, August 24, 2018 3:24:00 PM, Blogger Margaret said...

"for the moon that never comes" Your poem is so well done - You picked up the feel of the original (I like yours better - not a huge fan of Cummings). I always try to turn things "happy" and I probably should have tried this avenue as a challenge. Anyway, I think your effort there is amazing!

 
At Friday, August 24, 2018 5:16:00 PM, Blogger peterfrankiswrites.wordpress.com said...

Vivid settings here, I particularly liked the cigarette butts smoked "smoked until fingers hot drop them" - and a very ee cumming's disruptive final stanza.

 
At Friday, August 24, 2018 5:52:00 PM, Blogger Susie Clevenger said...

Oh my gosh! This is absolutely one of my favorites you've written. You have so poetically, perfectly described the island of the street life.

 
At Saturday, August 25, 2018 12:05:00 AM, Blogger kaykuala said...

waiting for the moon that never comes
coffee houses open
as night fades
and dawn cracks
wine or coffee they take their pick

One often gets disappointed by events that fizzle off after a long wait. Damage control comes in the form of Hobson's Choice not really forgiving but just frustrations further enhanced. A case of being down and out!

Hank

 
At Saturday, August 25, 2018 12:44:00 AM, Blogger Old Egg said...

Living close to a large city this is a sight one often sees, with those who have given up hope of living normal lives, exist in corners and storefronts and under bridges if they can't get into hostels that night so that any money they have begged has been spent on booze to ease the pain.

 

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