Neopoet

Join the Neopoet online poetry workshop and community to improve as a writer, meet fellow poets, and showcase your work. Sign up, submit your poetry, and get started.

IRiz
IRiz
May 28, 2018 ⭐ View statistics (Premium feature)

What I do

Triangle roofs, watch towers,
five hundred year old steep walls,
cobblestone and marble
are lighted aslant.

River covered
by trembling zig-zags
carries a mystery, gleaming initials,
in the parchment of night.

Tree shadows,
the oblique obelisks
to the former dusks,
lean over the silver ink
almost touching the other bank.

Homeless sells his guitar.
It cries. Nylon strings are
strongly attached.

Fish scales of my days
are scattered just right.
My town and I are ready to ride.
Monuments hold the reins.

In a blink, we are winged and afar.
No highways, no gates, no tolls,
neither dollars, nor gold, nor bitcoins.
No streets, no ground beneath.
Memories are only stops,
resting points to pick up supplies.

Hopping from line to line,
searching for right words,
flying with Town, five hundred year old,
is my life and what I do.

About This Poem

Last Few Words: too long?

Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back

Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft

About the Author

Region, Country: Washington DC, USA

Favorite Poets: Matsuo Bashō, Sylvia Plath, Charles Bukowski, TS Eliot, William Carlos Williams, Joseph Brodsky, Boris Pasternak, DH Lawrence, Robert Frost

More from this author

Comments

R

raj

7 years 1 month ago

A rustic painting in pastel

A rustic painting in pastel colors bringing past and present together...

it leaves me with an imprint of a:-

Homeless sells his guitar.
It cries. Nylon strings are
strongly attached.

addition of sounds would have made it even stronger is my opinion
...............................................................................

weirdelf

weirdelf

7 years 1 month ago

What marvellous lines!-

"Memories are only stops,
resting points to pick up supplies."

I love exploring your world. It is so different to our harsh Australian light, no buildings more than a couple of hundred years old, our unforgiving, often deadly land and cities all glass and chrome.
я ревную
но не очень ревнивый

Ours is a grand and humbling land.

IRiz

IRiz

7 years 1 month ago

I feel that way about the

I feel that way about the exotic land of Australia, last fall I was riding horses in Colorado with a student from Australia. She is a gorgeous very strong and beautiful rider. When she gallops through the open blooming plain on her silver black horse she looks like madic creature. When
I think about Australia I imagine her. There were also local cawgirls but they look less wild.
I also like Australian accent, thanks to your reading. And Australian nature from books, so I am obviously dying to visit. And maybe consider this winter.
Oh yes and the poem is completely made up based on Escher's graphics and my memories of Cordoba, a town in Spain where I was the summer before.

IRiz

IRiz

7 years 1 month ago

hm, it looks like the one

hm, it looks like the one that lives in my room, i guess i have to spend more time with spiders to see the difference between benign fly-catchers and deadly hunters. Okay maybe I will go to Berlin instead.

IRiz

IRiz

7 years 1 month ago

I love your reading!!!

I love your reading!!!
First, I noticed the shape of the recording looks like precise simmetrical waves for each stanza.
At the end when I took off the rhythm has changed precisely the way I wanted!
I was afraid that the change will feel like a hiccup but it was smooth.
It is my honor if you share any of my poems, please do so. Thank you.

The number are corrected, you are certainly write about it.