Always lost in the city

a song by noir desire

saddened and amused

by sorrow parade

of life

travellin' by

all containing a million

miracles, hopes and dreams

the world and the

minutia within

dancing sweetmusic

and poetry

the heartache of a 

beautiful womans frown

the simpleness

and warmth of smiles

an enquiring infants mind

or boisterous  Alsatian hounds

the tenderness in a pair 

of grey gloves

left while I slept

wine in the sun

by fruit markets

( also the rain, )

the freeze of snow sleeping

and all the myriad pains

of spirit mind and flesh

the freedom of 

music/expression/art

should resound and resonate

every walking street/waking/unwoken

movement

the absolute zen in

pidgeon fights over bread ...

...and sweet playful

painful tears

generosity mixed

with ignorance/

distain/ refrain from one

eye to the next ...

we

the smiling few

are the richer

of the two

le patron 

est la rue

trombe

touche

vive

( sur la rue )

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

A medley here of memories of city life, the noise, the chaos, the smells, the people, the hustle, the bustle and everything now that I have grown to dislike, and yet I was born in the city of London. Open spaces suit me better. City life is claustrophobic and lonely for many. You either love it or hate it. A nice surprise at the end, showing off your schoolboy French. I do like to see the odd foreign word introduced into poetry. You reminded me of why I don't take the inter city train into Paddington when it would be so easy to do it. Enjoyed the read gram. Happy Sunday.

Chris

[gram linski]

Thanks, Chris, happy, er sunday, back at ya

[Eilis]

This feels like a man’s-eye view from the sidewalk. The man settled in some semi-out-of-the-way place where he is observing the bustle of city life as it passes by. In contrast to the larger activity, though, he has chosen to be unhurried and absorb the moment. With both the good and bad thoughts it brings.

It’s like the grand parade of life itself acted out on a crowded stage. The young and old together (with their animal companions) but operating on separate trajectories. Time itself taking each person on a different track. Timelines intersecting and running parallel. But it’s all unfolding together.

I have an image of the man being able to slow it all down in his mind, and imagine his own kind of power to (if nothing else) replay the scene at anytime and any speed. To recall the tender gesture of (what I’m imagining was) a stranger leaving a pair of gloves for the man asleep in the elements. Or to recall the bustling life of pigeons where every moment has an urgency we can’t ever really understand. The zen of it all flowing over the mind subject, in that moment, only to that moment.

The lesson of the day that I will carry away after reading is that freedom has two faces. There is the beauty of having the time and mind-space to be present for every moment. But that comes at a price. Perhaps that is physical discomfort or loneliness. Or any number of things. But, like any state, each feeling is temporary and will shift into others as surely as the sun and moon will keep dancing around one another.

I enjoyed this. It was like a glimpse into the mind during a particular moment of observation. Those grey gloves will stick in my head.

[gram linski]

aye, the dance of the sun and the moon, you got that right Eilis, those grey gloves stuck in my head, a little bit of kindness to be passed on,

[jacob erin-cilberto]

this reminds me why i am so glad i have left the city as a youngin' and ended up where i am now...in a rural area away from all of the crazy chaos of the city...
love the ending...my mom would have really appreciated this poem...she spoke fluent french.
j.

[gram linski]

thanks, j. your mom would have hated it, nothing fluid about my French, cheers,

[jacob erin-cilberto]

she would have appreciated the effort....:)))

[John Alexander McFadyen]

This seems to speak of dark memories of things done, enjoyed, regretted. It has a really brittle feel despite some soft images. The gloves left feel like a sweet moment of recall but was it the last he saw of her? The penultimate stanza hints at confusion and immaturity as one goes from one situation, one song to the next and the sardonic final stanza seems to say that those who shed the guilt were better able to survive the city jungle.

[gram linski]

thanks John, the gloves were the last tender thing that happened that life,