the night sticks like wet petals

This is my first attempt on a "golden shovel" poem. I find it interesting, even challenging.

The poem I chose was In a Station of the Metro by Ezra Pound :

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.

photo by dsnake1




the night sticks like wet petals


if you imagine us scurrying down to the
tunnels, each of us is an apparition
skins lined after a helpless day of
slaving in hills of data then these
shadows these lines on your faces
those sunken eyes reflected in
steel the glass panels of the

stations and the bloodshot eyes of the crowd;

the night sticks like wet petals
unwilling to fall, clinging on
the scent of fading cologne, on a
breath thick with reasons, slick and wet,
all waiting, the masses, huddled and black
as the train hurtling in, a thick dark bough.


19/05/2016
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heck, it even has a nice form. but am not too satisfied with this attempt..

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"I'm sorry my dears but we only sat down
And laughed and laughed in sorrow"

-- Uriah Heep, Circus


Shared on Poetry Pantry #303 at Poets United.

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2016