a broken part of the city
gone art
finds a fifth floor window
expressionless.
sound taps
into the mind
of George M.
as a grand old flag
waves goodbye.
inside one room
with no view
a man lies upon a bed
one bulb exposed above
burned out.
alone
he listens
to a different Cohen
with eyes tightly closed
he silently whispers a song
Hallelujah
broken from the poets bible.
below
a street corner
and a musicians bowlegs stand.
he wears a moth-eaten P-Coat
with anchors missing
and a hung-over violin
progressively plays
I Cried For You
all day.
before him
a young boy listens
rocks back and forth
on cracks of old souls.
while staring at his open box
of caramel corn
he sees a vision of himself
and searches for the prize
of a sailors
half hitched dreams.
impatient
he tosses it into a cap
of sixteen silent copper coins
and skips on waves of sunlight.
an alley wall
casts the shadow
of a wrecking ball
yet resembles a flag pole
while twilight without
a vote of confidence
buzzes
red white and blue neon
above the U.S. Hotel.
I read and usually do not comment lots of patriotic stuff that is not very creative, things that are sometimes too naive and unrealistic for me. I don't generally feel that I'm entitled to comment anyway, because I am not an American. But this one is really different. First of all, the composition is really outstanding, with the use of the word "anchor" splendidly thought out.
Also, the scenes that you depicted, together with the great realism that touches the reader immediately, create a highly effective metaphor of the society you describe and show your desire for improvement.
The thoughts that popped into my mind as I read this ... memories of what has been, but with strength and hope. We may be beaten and crumble, but our spirit will always be with us. We shall survive, regardless of ...
Wow... Such depth in simple fragments... images that blend together in their very individuality...
I am still reeling from the effects of the imagery in this poem.
Cryssa
Reviewed by James Blaylock (Reader)
Reviewed on March 14, 2008
I really enjoyed reading this wonderfully vivid poem. It was as if you brought the reader right to that spot.
jkb
Reviewed by Sanja Dayslink (Reader)
Reviewed on March 13, 2008
As I read, I thought of how many times I have walked down any given street in New York city and this write took me right back there almost immediately. Well done, I truly enjoyed this!
having lived in New York City for some years, I can relate to this - it's just that I read it the other day and was not in a receptive frame of mind. It's a wonderfully crafted poem, and I'm more receptive today. Only a few of the references are strange to me (who's George M.? - unless I'm dense) And of course your title here, and in all your poems is a artist's statement alone. You really think out yor titles.
best, fellow lyric writer, michael guy
Fabulous evocation of atmosphere and place with stunning telling detail, John. I have to confess to feeling a little at sea as to the actual situations, but it matters not - in fact, it intrigues and draws me in as one of those dream-type experiences in a strange and foreign place, during which all the sensory and intellectual antennae are on full alert, although not understanding fully what is occuring. It leaves me feeling vulnerable, which is the mark of effective poetry. I believe and hope this is the intention of the poem, but forgive me if I'm wrong. I like this work very much. It is compelling and so cinematic. And very intriguing. Wonderful lines that reach out and grab: love especially "before him a young boy listens rocks back and forth on cracks of old souls. while staring at his open box of caramel corn he sees a vision of himself and searches for the prize of a sailors half hitched dreams." Rich, John, thank you. And thank you, too, for delving into my archive. It touches me that you have taken the time and trouble to do that! Kate xx
The imagery is most outstanding.....poetic perfection!!
Love Tinka
Reviewed by Anna Marie Fritz (Reader)
Reviewed on March 12, 2008
I have to agree with Mr. Bentley, here.
What more can one add to such a genius of a write?
I can identify with that man in a P Coat, too. John Coltrane serenades me more than anyone else, nowadays.
Thank you for helping me 'discover' you, through your support of
my poetry 'The Artists Way.'
Oh my John, this ones cuts deep and stays on the mind after reading. Ingenious work.
Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader)
Reviewed on March 10, 2008
Have no idea why you needed my two cents here, John, it seems you have grand-slammed this one . . . A piece of stand-up poetry with more metaphors than Dixie Beer at a Klan Rally . . . You paint a dismal portrait of squalor and inattention to a myriad of scenes, each one, of course representing something else entirely than the words suggest at first glance . . . Maybe I am missing something here, by some of the comments already made, but I see a once proud America reduced to the wrecking ball of misguided leaders, inattentive voters across the land, and finally a weakening of our country by obliterating the very thing which made her great . . . Our individual iron will and knowing right from wrong . . . Eerily put together . . . This is classic understatement . . .
So much to relate to in your words here, John. For some reason you've brought to mind Neil Young and many others of that ilk. Thank you. Love and peace, friend...
Skid row? Bad parts of towns? Creepy yet strong images. Keep writing. (Doc used to say scribblin' or scribbling. He was the nicest person. His site's here at AD. Hanley Harding.)
Katie's review couldn't get more close to how I too see your words here, crumble, before my eyes!
"missing anchors" leaves me aimlessly floating in a sea of images, thoughts and leaving me with the colors of America that we can only hope will shine, neon in our hearts, once again...to anchor our patriotic duties, and the responsibilities, as parents, to the youth of America, who need to feel what our forefathers felt and to know why we will always fight! We need to give every man and woman, citizens of this great nation, every opportunity to reach for the prize and the ability to realize that, while they are reaching so are the many others around them ...I say, " ALl aboard!, ...grab your panhandling baskets and let's watch them float away in the silent, waking to the music before us!
Cohen always keeps a spare anchor before the bow...Hmmm? You did it again, John...
I went speechless again! Not!
Love and Peace~
Kimmy~
Damn your good! :)
Reviewed by ~ Holly Harbridge (Reader)
Reviewed on March 10, 2008
This poem in particular leaves me speechless, and that doesn't happen very often.
What a gift you have!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
With love and respect, Holly
Excellent poem- so many things to make the reader stop and go, "Oh yeah!" The cracker jack/sailor section was great, and the reference to so many great songs and their singers, loved this.
Reviewed by Andy Turner (Reader)
Reviewed on March 9, 2008
Oh my. What comes straight to mind is Jim Jarmusch, He'd make a great film out of this. And his famous quote "The beauty of life is in small details not big events.
I just know you'll understand what I mean.
Stunning...
a stark image black and white until the flag appeared...the image floated across this readers mind, neither pulled into it, nor away from its canvas
Reviewed by blue soplain (Reader)
Reviewed on March 9, 2008
...a broken hallelujiah.. ..little asides dripping from every darker corner in this. ..bulbs and souls burned out...tired. .. . but still softly needing to burn....and thea rtistic renditions in the first strophe. .. .expressionless art....sans eyes and hearts or emotions. .. .dry and dead. ...
such a powerful thing youve written....
full and empty simultaneously
ness
WOW! You know what always grabs my attention about your work is your use of imagery and detail, sometimes subtle but sometimes not so subtle. The image of the young boy with his caramel corn was so endearing to me.. just well done, John!
Always,
Myrna
The second stanza took my mind off on a tangent all its own: one of our many Veterans who are used and discarded, disregarded, and oft destroyed. Whatever your intent, there is a wake-up call to your words throughout this poem.
Excellent write, John.
In the midst of all that is happening in our country today, there is still the pledge of hope. And although the shadow of a wrecking ball looms to obliterate all that remains, be it good or bad, the flag pole stands tall to signify that "the flag is still there." A wonderful write, John.
This is a really deep poem!! It immediately resonated with me as
I am a huge George M. Cohen fan. Dreams and hopes seem almost like
the single lightbulb above the burned out man who listens to a different Cohen. One of broken dreams, promises for a different America. The one he knew is about to fall apart almost like destroyed
by the wrecking ball as it looms in the alley's shadow of the twilight. He whispers one last "halleluia" in salute of the flag
he had known but is no more, a broken poet, a broken dream of what could never be. Below, a musician, physically broken, in a moth eaten P coat plays a mournful song "I Cried For You" and how perfect this song fits this poem! It plays progressively knowing that was was never will be again. Times moves on, everything changes, dreams die, only to be reborn in a different way. Before the musician, is a young boy as he listens to the song on the violin, rocks back and forth
against the past dreams of those before him, tasting life in his
box of caramel corn, seeking the prize that he deems worthy of the
music he hears, so forlorn and sad, wanting to appease the pain of
the scene before him, but powerless to do so! He dreams of the sailors
life, the hardship, the pain and the glory, grasps the prize proudly
and throws it into the cap of 16 silent copper coins. These 16 silent
copper coins may represent those silent dreams not remembered of
a flag that has so much history, blood and tears and glory to be remembered, yet the wrecking ball lays in wait just in the alley
just waiting to crush the dream of a US sailor broken but limping
and alive to live another day....
hope I'm even close to your interpretaton...this is what I see
The salty waters of many a ocean in my veins are warming with this poem, because all my life had been a ship without anchors...
One day I hope to return to that US Hotel to take my final bow.
Exellent, poet.
John,I missed your poems and comments and wondered where you were.A pleasure to read such a brilliant poem!It is awash with colorful hues and images that make deep impressions for me of a sailor on leave off a ship spending a night in a city hotel where remembranes of past lives flash by,as sounds come forth of bygone songs,etc...
so poignant!
Reviewed by Gianetta Ellis (Reader)
Reviewed on March 8, 2008
Mesmerizingly sullen; connected yet detached - the eye of an observer, the heart of a poet.
Reviewed by Boots Dorfman (Reader)
Reviewed on March 8, 2008
Top drawer stuff, Laddiebuck! I don't generally care for this sort of imagism and impressionism, but you pull it off with great flair. Probably in part because you can look tangentially at things and see the underlying reality of them. Most people can't, and the ability to do so, then communicate it with a little subtlety and wit is the hallmark of the competent versifyer. May you live forever and cover the planet with your spawn.
Each person is but a grain of sand resting beside the sea. This thought sets the tone for Jill Eisnaugle’s latest poetry collection, Beside Still Waters.
NOW AVAILABLE!
This book is a limited edition, and copies are hand numbered. It will NOT be available through Amazon or other distributors. You must purchase it directly from the author or from this site. It is hard-back (not the spiral bind seen
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Also, the scenes that you depicted, together with the great realism that touches the reader immediately, create a highly effective metaphor of the society you describe and show your desire for improvement.
Impressive write!
Axilea
God bless you. Kathy
I am still reeling from the effects of the imagery in this poem.
Cryssa
jkb
Sanja xo
best, fellow lyric writer, michael guy
Be well,
Sheri
Love Tinka
What more can one add to such a genius of a write?
I can identify with that man in a P Coat, too. John Coltrane serenades me more than anyone else, nowadays.
Thank you for helping me 'discover' you, through your support of
my poetry 'The Artists Way.'
To articulate
Would obviously deviate
Exceptional poetry.
DWB
Regis
Newfie Hugs, Rose
This is one fantastic poem
You have out done yourself with this great write
Peace be with you always
William
"missing anchors" leaves me aimlessly floating in a sea of images, thoughts and leaving me with the colors of America that we can only hope will shine, neon in our hearts, once again...to anchor our patriotic duties, and the responsibilities, as parents, to the youth of America, who need to feel what our forefathers felt and to know why we will always fight! We need to give every man and woman, citizens of this great nation, every opportunity to reach for the prize and the ability to realize that, while they are reaching so are the many others around them ...I say, " ALl aboard!, ...grab your panhandling baskets and let's watch them float away in the silent, waking to the music before us!
Cohen always keeps a spare anchor before the bow...Hmmm? You did it again, John...
I went speechless again! Not!
Love and Peace~
Kimmy~
Damn your good! :)
What a gift you have!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
With love and respect, Holly
I just know you'll understand what I mean.
Stunning...
such a powerful thing youve written....
full and empty simultaneously
ness
Always,
Myrna
Excellent write, John.
Micke
David
Hello John,
Wonderful penning, this seems like a subliminal message of hope to me. Thank you for sharing and your kind words bidding you many blessings.
Sincerely,
~Gwendolyn
I am a huge George M. Cohen fan. Dreams and hopes seem almost like
the single lightbulb above the burned out man who listens to a different Cohen. One of broken dreams, promises for a different America. The one he knew is about to fall apart almost like destroyed
by the wrecking ball as it looms in the alley's shadow of the twilight. He whispers one last "halleluia" in salute of the flag
he had known but is no more, a broken poet, a broken dream of what could never be. Below, a musician, physically broken, in a moth eaten P coat plays a mournful song "I Cried For You" and how perfect this song fits this poem! It plays progressively knowing that was was never will be again. Times moves on, everything changes, dreams die, only to be reborn in a different way. Before the musician, is a young boy as he listens to the song on the violin, rocks back and forth
against the past dreams of those before him, tasting life in his
box of caramel corn, seeking the prize that he deems worthy of the
music he hears, so forlorn and sad, wanting to appease the pain of
the scene before him, but powerless to do so! He dreams of the sailors
life, the hardship, the pain and the glory, grasps the prize proudly
and throws it into the cap of 16 silent copper coins. These 16 silent
copper coins may represent those silent dreams not remembered of
a flag that has so much history, blood and tears and glory to be remembered, yet the wrecking ball lays in wait just in the alley
just waiting to crush the dream of a US sailor broken but limping
and alive to live another day....
hope I'm even close to your interpretaton...this is what I see
Bravo!! great poem...it made me think!
katie :)
One day I hope to return to that US Hotel to take my final bow.
Exellent, poet.
Georg
this is great John.
Enjoyed immensely..
Ron
so poignant!
Yer unindicted coconspirator,
Boots Dorfman
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.