in ones eyes
all is seen
and the shadows
yes
they are there
for I have walked in many.
the streets I know are these
sweeping me through time
now
but so unfamiliar
from concrete dreams
I once danced upon
in years
younger.
like the striking element
within
an old Ronson lighter
I felt I was
in like flint
while life
once so fluid
refillable knew
I too would become obsolete
remembered
yet disposable.
with time all became
so packaged
while to strike
became the torch
I yet carry
remembering liberty’s face
in the stars reflection
of Hudsonmidnights
and moonlit manhattans.
my vintage hat box
fitting one
stores many
worn within
once Borsalino bound
now dusty fade
auras
shelved in darkness
their crown once golden
past.
somewhere still
suspended in time
hooped
are years
when once the hit
mallet memories
took me on a roll
down alleys
where shots rang out
from hip flasks
thrown back
to friends of early times.
pedaled thoughts
go flat
as spokes spin silent
the wheel of fate
so traveled
the springs and falls
I took
in black and white
then
now given color
of the heart
blue
memories of something
prohibited
and how it felt
so free.
I really like the third stanza. Looking back on old times, reflecting on the inevitable passage of time. A once useful item with purpose now looked upon as a relic. It hits the heart. Beautiful poem.
Like Alice through the looking glass, i fell through the mirror into the world of these lines and was captivated by each word's exqusisite placement to evoke such tremulous and powerful emotions~thought.
Selene
remembered yet disposable. Like all things, this too shall pass--yet in that passing, a memory penned with perfection; enough to draw the trace of a smile to smooth out the rough edges of today.
A wonderful reflective write that reminds us how the past, trinkets, and obects affect our our lives today, but also how quickly time passes and how things continually change...but in our memories and our heart many times they remain the same! Enjoyed this very much, well written my friend!
Blessings,
Joyce B.
I once was filled to the brim with vim and vigor like the Ronsons and Zippos of an age gone by, with visions of grandeur in the eyes of others. But now I've reached the age of being out of date and non-refundable. Perhaps I even held a Pall Mall between the first two fingers of my left hand and dreamed of walking a street in London bearing the same name. I can't remember now...it's been so long ago. Memories fade in due time, you know. And, as I rattle my brain forward into the world of reality, I realize that your words alone have caused me to travel, for a time, into my dreamworld of yesteryear. For that I am most grateful. It is but a few who can take me there.
I do apologize, my friend, because I thought I had left my thoughts on this beauty but alas...(methinks the brain cells are fading more quickly that first thought..lol) As I began to read the first stanza hit me like that wall we fear yes find comfort in... and then your analogies.. your metaphors.. just poured forth...the Ronson lighter, the hat box.. but it was the last stanza that stopped me cold... 'memories of something prohibited and how it felt so free'... Didn't it though? Excellent my friend.. Myrna
Really nice work John...your give the picture od time passed and its revealing memories of which we have embedded within us...though some of the thoughts that we raise are of our own they are also of many who walked the same paths...
I like this one John it has a variety of character and emotion built within its frame of expression...
I Always enjoy your writings and this one is but another
brilliantly composed contribution to the Den
All I can remember about Pall Mall is that it was my Father's
Choice of vise ...And the Bell-hop walking through a Hotel Lobby
Yelling "Call For Phillip Morris"
Peace be with you
pall-mall we go through time with special dreams and feelings we carry from birth, perhaps to the "grave" - yet a certain person like me (and I think maybe you) has a nostalgic slant on life that in its best moments becomes "Timeless". I would say fads are NOT your thing, yet what is missed is the "quality" of those things past - and in either case, as long as the "pall-malls" aren't the ones I smoked in my twenties, it's OK....Later, michael
And with a puff. . . .
Smoke rings . . . .
Fly by. . . .
Then evaporate.
Take another drag. . . .
Menthol - flat
Maybe drivin' an ol' H Rag?
I tip my hat.
Doug
Reviewed by ~ Holly Harbridge (Reader)
Reviewed on June 1, 2008
Glad I dropped by tonight to see this gem...time to take a bow my friend, love Holly
John, true words painting a scene of days long gone but memories "still" as strong and alive as ever. This reader walked down those alley's with you and ducked as the shots rang out. Ah, you've captured such magnificent images bringing them to life in this wonderful poem. An excellent write.
memories of something
prohibited
and how it felt
so free.
... and "free" is the flow of thoughts centring on some halcyon bygone days that are in each case as a cameo snapshot, taken through an Alice door into the fragrant and very visual garden of your memory. Indeed, the black and white of your words on the page take on the vibrant colour of stark, living images and the central stanza with the Ronson is stunning. Yes, John; as ever you ignite the flint of our imagination with the bright spark, ever renewable, of your liquid idea and expression. TY - another beauty! :)) Kate xx
An amazing write,, and I enjoyed all three times that I read it,, so much said from within, I felt like I was walking along side you observing your steps.... Excellent!
Christine
You took me around the cobblestone streets of old Brookling, dark, with a few street lights that where not smashed by hooligans.
That Borsalino hat, against so many fedoras, gave the walker an air of authority that prevent the mugger to try; the shining spit and polished shoes, the head hig, walking, there was a poet through the night like an untouchable ghost.
I love the way you words things as we can many things different ways, they say it is not whats said but how it is said, great writing John. Thank you for sharing.
Nostalgic and a bit sad...and yes, memories...but I believe they are what we choose to make them...how we want to remember them. Excellent writing, John. You always make the reader feel as though they have entered into a piece of the world that you have written about.
Nostalgic write, and a wonderful way with words. We are always making memories though, and even in the present right now, will be in the past tomorrow. Sad reflections of yesterday only steals from our happiness today. :)
Reviewed by Gianetta Ellis (Reader)
Reviewed on May 31, 2008
Drawn completely into your world, taken along to walk with you side-by-side during a fleeting moment in the time of your life, listening to your thoughts (anything but flat) resonate between past and present ~ I can taste the bittersweet of your memories. Wonderful.
"pall-mall"
John,
Wonderful play upon words as you built to the climatic effect of freedom, guess those were the days as they say. Thank you for sharing the lustre of your pen through the imageries and colorfulness; enjoy your day.
John...when I saw pall mall, my first thought was of ghosts of the past...the cigarette Pall Mall. Add words as Ronson lighter, flint, refillable, the torch, liberty (as in concert "torch"), I was "drawn" more into this thought. Am I far off the mark? What ever, enjoyed this intriguing remembrance, butt with conformance freedom.
Ya got me on this one :o)
Blessings Friend ~~ Micke
Time is a killer to the soul if one but allows it . . . Even with the best defense we are prone to lament quite glibly (I go there often) about the times then and the spunk we had even as we fell flat on our faces . . . Now we have "those" later years . . . Feel uninspired and wonder if we really have anything left to say . . . Life is a bitch, a beautiful slutty bitch that we hold onto even when sometimes we should let go . . . Good, John
Selected poems from previous & forthcoming collections together with Q&R apps on each page to enable audio rendition simultaneously with the written text
Still Living on my Feet is the follow up to Tichaona Chinyelu’s first book, In the Whirlwind, which was rooted in a sense of hard-hitting revolutionary black love. However, in this sophomore effort, Tichaona brings the revolutionary essence from deep
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love the mood of this engaging write, john.
peace,
carolyn
now
but so unfamiliar
from concrete dreams"
Where did all those concrete dreams go to? --they took paths far removed from the dreams themselves.
Cryssa
Regis
Selene
Blessings,
Joyce B.
David Lee Thompson
I like this one John it has a variety of character and emotion built within its frame of expression...
nice...
Art Sun...
brilliantly composed contribution to the Den
All I can remember about Pall Mall is that it was my Father's
Choice of vise ...And the Bell-hop walking through a Hotel Lobby
Yelling "Call For Phillip Morris"
Peace be with you
William
Smoke rings . . . .
Fly by. . . .
Then evaporate.
Take another drag. . . .
Menthol - flat
Maybe drivin' an ol' H Rag?
I tip my hat.
Doug
prohibited
and how it felt
so free.
... and "free" is the flow of thoughts centring on some halcyon bygone days that are in each case as a cameo snapshot, taken through an Alice door into the fragrant and very visual garden of your memory. Indeed, the black and white of your words on the page take on the vibrant colour of stark, living images and the central stanza with the Ronson is stunning. Yes, John; as ever you ignite the flint of our imagination with the bright spark, ever renewable, of your liquid idea and expression. TY - another beauty! :)) Kate xx
Hugs
B
Christine
That Borsalino hat, against so many fedoras, gave the walker an air of authority that prevent the mugger to try; the shining spit and polished shoes, the head hig, walking, there was a poet through the night like an untouchable ghost.
Georg
Newfie Hugs, Rose
Harold M. Nash
"pall-mall"
John,
Wonderful play upon words as you built to the climatic effect of freedom, guess those were the days as they say. Thank you for sharing the lustre of your pen through the imageries and colorfulness; enjoy your day.
Blessings as always,
~Gwendolyn
Images through smoke ... evokes powerful memories from the past - Pall Mall - Ronson lighters - well done.
(((HGUS))) and love, Karla.
I've lost all my Zipo lighters...
Ron
Ya got me on this one :o)
Blessings Friend ~~ Micke