Great imagery . One can see and feel what you write!....M

Great write!

Chrissy

Wow, the imagery revealed itself with every word!
I'm the one in Lumberland...HA and now I can imagine, "Lubberland"
and am so glad I don't really...

"The significance of deciding what venue to pursue
Is inconsequential, every direction leads to nowhere..."
a sad view to ponder...
Enjoyed "the Perils of Lubberland"
Love and Peace~
Kimmy~

I almost felt as though this should be the preface to a great mystery novel, Jude. I could see you propped against a lamp post, you in a leather bomber jacket with your hat pulled down slighly over one eye, the amber glow of a cigarette and the lacy haze of smoke encircling your head amid a foggy mist. The crash of a trash can lid as a dog, spooked, makes his rapid exit from the alley. "Jude Ace, Private Eye" Your images are fantastic and your words moody. Nice work! ;)
Take care,
Sherry

great poetic reflective story Robert, watchout for the big trees, timberrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr or is it foreeeeeeeeeeee, any golf courses in lubberland, man am I way off it's lubberland not lumberland, for some reason I was seeing big trees while reading this

'It is a cold night;
I stand on this corner
Watching the moon pass over clouds' - many a time this is how I've spent a quiet moment.

Well written.

Jackie

"noen lights blink
across the heartbeat of an informal landscape

pulsating with the blood of drafty avenues
and bygone dreamscapes"
where do you get these kind of lines???
as always excellent imageries and lines here!!!

good one

i see this city scape with your supurb imagery, well done

"Every broken sidewalk and potholed street
Points into the motherland of abandonment"
Such is life these days. It has become extreme and pride is lost with apathy. I love the truth in your words.
Love,
Susan

No one could say it any better, or make the reader feel they are on that corner with you. Another brilliant poem!

'The significance of deciding what venue to pursue
Is inconsequential, every direction leads to nowhere'

Astounding imagery of a City, lost in its own fate.

Super powerful write, Jude! Loved it!
Love & Hugs, Rhonda

Very compassionately meloncholy. I can see the city through your eyes... hear and feel and taste it. I have never actually been there, and yet you have set it out before me. Fantastic work.

Fantastic imagery transports the reader to your world--excellent, Jude! Love the imagery and lines--BRAVO!

(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.

An excellent write Robert
I found myself back in "The Bronx"
Where with the other five Boroughs
I thought I left behind,
I haven't heard sirens Like the ones
That imprint instant images, of criminal emergencies
For about 6 years, not that I miss them
Now the ones I hear, warn me of possible wheather dangers
Again, an outstanding write
Peace

William

-a unique inside view of lubberland on a cold cloudy night The imagery is that of an acute observer who sees beyond the mystique into the true nature of the city. I particularly like this image:
"Where anonymous cues of light and motion
Signal like a broken lighthouse
In the foggy distance of dismembered consciousness"
Outstanding poetry sir!
~Butch

I can picture it. I can also picture a sea at night with no land lubbers in sight.

Ron

always enjoy the NYC imagery, having never experienced it firsthand. reading and taking them in, however, is somehow so familiar, as if I've stood in that place and seen the roads to nowhere and felt the shivers myself. something to be said for taking it in and knowing you are a part of it all. your willingness to pick up that pen once again like a fire for others on their own cold nights. Dawn

Your words paint the visuals as if you were using a brush on a canvas, instead of a pen on paper...excellent Jude
love and peace,
Carole~

Awesome write...great imagery...perfect poetry!!

Love Tinka

Great write and you made me feel like I was there. That's when we know a poet is a GOOD poet.

George

I am a big fan of your imagery, Jude. Each piece I read I see a piece of New York in. I truly enjoyed this one this morning.

~hugs~
Karen

i find this very introspective and a bit sad-love the lines, "Every broken sidewalk and potholed street
Points into the motherland of abandonment" these words speak voumes

A very heartfelt and emotional write Jude, your imagery is outstanding. Time has a way of changing some of the places
that we hold dearest to our hearts. Time and people! Enjoyed
this write very much, very thought provoking indeed!
Blessings,
Joyce Bowling

The significance of deciding what venue to pursue
Is inconsequential, every direction leads to nowhere

It truly seems that way to many these days.

Good imageries, Jude!!!!! Enjoyed!!!!!

Interesting write...Hugsss

I could translate the vividness of this reflection to the Scottish mining village where I was raised. Sad to say I am more attached to a pen than this once thriving and reasonably secure community. For me personally, these attributes have vanished into a bottomless pothole created by an insidious, relativist ideology. I am a stranger in my own village - the village is a stranger to me; it does not even so much as give me a friendly wink anymore. Only my shadow bore a familiar face. Ashes to ashes, eh?

Regards
Dai

the rotting swamp of conurbation run amuck...
an inspired capture, jude.
as always, a pleasure to read your stuff.
peace,
carolyn

A cold night, emphasised, but a very warm relationship you have with that "indescribable mystique" which surrounds your pen and causes it to thrill. A very erotic last couple of verses that shows your creative interdependence - who's actually watching whom from above or below, and "in view"? You give the impression of both - being watched and watching under that all-seeing gaze. This very special corner lifts you away from that urban "fiction" (otherwise known at the hard-fact life of the material world), away from Lubberland and onto the open waters and fathomless depths of the seas of Neverland - or should that be Alwaysland?! :)) Love the Raymond Chandler hard-edged feel to this, to accompany that frosty weather, and yet the tone is soft, awed and mellow, giving the magic of a Spielberg, Bruckheimer or Disney effect. You could be equally standing on Harry Potter's Platform 9 and three-quarters and, according to Sage, waiting for Eleanor of Sparta to happen along in her Rolls to scoop you up as her Chauffeur, all decked-out in Armani! This floats on silvered chariot wings and resonates like the chink of the clearest lead crystal in a glassy night sky. No wonder your pen is well-inked. And no wonder you don't want to be anywhere else, particularly not at any of those other inconsequential venues. And yes, I'm in one of those moods and am glad I am commenting after Turner.... :)) LOL K xx

A homeless person couldn't describe better the decay of the city around which have undertones paralleling society own frabric's decline.
A kind of description in the realms of a Dalí fresco.
Georg

On the road to nowhere, yikes imagine if this was all there really was, what would be the point of our intelligence. But thank God for God, we have the infinite and the eternal..

Ya know Bob, we gotta talk...you should do a word definition program with some of your poems...there are those of us who ain't to smurt down here in southern jursey...;) LOL! As always I admire your use of those "big" words...Hope this next storm comes in to your liking, rain or snow...Ed & Rufuz

.. as I read .. I once again found myself in the myth and memory of Los Angeles/Hollywood ...

... exquisite poetry, both in thought and execution...a poem such as this ... pervades ... the reader's senses ...

...jeanne...

:) Yes we are hopeless addicts arent we, write on Sir JUDE, ;)

Ch'erie

You've been here before, centuries ago, a Spartan quill warrior plucking a feather quill from his feather ankle cuff, this is a scene from ancient Sparta transposed onto the Perils of Lubberland, modern language to mean something that is strictly utilitarian and devoid of luxuries and non-essential comforts, the meat wagon picking up a bloody dead gladiator who fought the tiger and lost, the moon drifts across the colliseum, "in view of indescribable mystique." The fire torch will outlast the neon and the halogen and so will you, Jude...quintessential, a monument of memories is worth many lifetimes...

Sage