Sunday, February 17, 2013

what's left

This poem is one of my personal favourites. It also found its way into an online magazine.

I wrote this poem on a wet, chilly evening, after a bad day in the office. If the mood of this piece is a bit dark and bleak, it's understandable. :)






photo by alvimann
image from morguefile.com


what's left



what's left
of the sunlight
on this bleak
wet evening
dances on
the gleaming
skins of
puddles on
bare pavements

as shadows chase
the day
up the
stone piers
of train viaducts
and the
damp trunks
of rain trees.

what are the
chances of
the silvery slice
of cold moon
cutting through
grey nimbus
like a scimitar?

until then
the last rays
dip and play
and dart
over the city

over the trains
pulling into
the stations

and

the tired
hungry masses
trudging home.


06/12/2007
**********







"We still can find a way
'Cause nothin' lasts forever
Even cold November rain."

-- Guns N' Roses, November Rain




Shared on Poetry Pantry #138 at Poets United.




© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2013

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10 Comments:

Blogger Brian Miller said...

nice...i can see why it is a favorite...you really set the mood and atmosphere of the the piece well...i like the last of the light dipping and darting over the city...

18 February, 2013 04:24  
Blogger dsnake1 said...

thanks, Brian! :)

18 February, 2013 08:00  
Blogger Mary said...

What I really liked about this poem is

as shadows chase
the day
up the
stone piers
of viaducts

I can really picture this vividly from your words.

I do understand why this poem would be a personal favorite. Very moody and evocative!

18 February, 2013 09:21  
Blogger dsnake1 said...

thank you, Mary.

i must have done something right with this poem. :)

18 February, 2013 22:33  
Blogger Laurie Kolp said...

Oh, I can see why it was published... exquisite!

18 February, 2013 23:04  
Blogger anthonynorth said...

Some great use of words in this. Excellent imagery and mood.

18 February, 2013 23:17  
Blogger aka_andrea said...

I love how the pace seems very swift and fluid up until the last lines and the arrival home.

19 February, 2013 10:21  
Blogger dsnake1 said...

Laurie,

thank you! :)


Anthony,

i have been missing from your site for some time. :)


andrea,

thanks! now that you mentioned it, yes, the pace of the earlier lines seems a tad frantic. :)

19 February, 2013 20:20  
Blogger Cressida de Nova said...

Evocative poem.You have captured that feeling of the wage slave on the endless treadmill of routine.

20 February, 2013 05:57  
Blogger dsnake1 said...

thank you, Cressida.
"wage slave on the endless treadmill of routine" - i like that. :)

20 February, 2013 21:57  

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