Thursday, December 08, 2011

Urbanism

The curbs are low and worn
the granite crudely shorn
in this town where I was never born,
a legacy of rust
and long forgotten dust
awaits the fools that blindly trust
the scavengers of scorn
that just this very morn
sought perches to adorn
on pillars of concrete
that frame the indiscreet
surviving in the street.

11 comments:

Laura Maria said...

Wow. Such a solemn, gripping poem.

Old Ollie said...

legacy of rust - awesome line

Neil Youngish!

AWOKEN SOUL said...

Laura has said it all..."Solemn and gripping"...perfect rhymes I must say.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

"surviving in the street".....good one.

rch said...

Thanks, as they say, they're (cities)a nice place to visit but I wouldn't want to live there.

eflores said...

Favorite line: "in this town where I was never born"
Well written! I can feel your emotions.
Erick Flores

Rosemary Nissen-Wade said...

I like the clever rhyme scheme!

Janet said...

I really like your rhyme scheme...amongst many great lines 'the scavengers of scorn' caught my attention. Great eye. Great write.

Dave King said...

For a short poem it don't arf take ee by the scruff and shake ee! Excellent work.

Eileen T O'Neill ..... said...

Bob,

Sometimes it is so difficult to find a bond with any place where we are strangers, or regarded as an outsider.

( Sorry for the late comment. Christmas shopping etc in the way!!!)

Best wishes, Eileen

rch said...

Thanks a lot!