Sweet Print

Raving on the shores of starry nights
While time drags off in clouds athwart the moon
I hear the thrum of angel wings in flight
And know my time is coming all too soon.

If there is passion in this darkling city
Ere concrete hearts can soon enough be tried
Then bricks will fall to breaches and for pity
Beggar, thief and victim won’t survive.

And I can write my voice upon the river
And cast my words upon the barren page
But no one else will hear above a whimper
For no one wants to watch an empty stage.

Ah, Internet! it’s you can hear our voice
And in community of print rejoice!

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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2 Responses to Sweet Print

  1. Amy says:

    I didn’t even realise the parallel in my photo and my poem…how spooky! 🙂

    The first stanza of this poem reminds of these gatherings they have every full moon down by the shorncliffe shoreline called, funnily enough, the full moon festival. It’s always very mystical down there. No lights, lot’s of people, candles, tribal drumming and fire twirlers. I know that’s not the image you intended with it, but it’s just the first imange that came to my head.

  2. riverwriter says:

    I think serendipty is a much under-appreciated asset of being human.

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