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What do I call
What do I hear, I hear the cars,
what do I see, I see the trees,
while the gulls huddle on the lake`s rectangular blocks of floating ice,
and the weeping willow`s pale green branches sway in the biting wind,
yellow squirrels tracks, seeds, brown leaves,
Cleveland`s grey skyscrapers grey against the grey sky
grey, grey, grey to the horizon
that melds with the distant mist,
silent presence, lake,
vast,
wide world
so small.
Style / type:
Free verse
Last few words:
What shall I call it Ann?
Editing stage:
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Comments
Geezer
Tue, 2011-03-01 13:59
No Bland Grey...
but, instead, a vision of the Nordic landscape. Built of concrete and blue grey lake. Your scene is a marvel of reflection. As always, your knight, Sir Gee
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This must be the place, 'cause there ain't no place like this place anywhere near this place.
Kailashana2
Tue, 2011-03-01 15:05
Such beauty, my beautiful
Such beauty, my beautiful Nordic Cloud. You have gifted us with your presence and this Cleveland poem. I'll be sending it off to Deep Cleveland as it's a wonderful poetic slice of a grey Cleveland day. It was cold wasn't it? But no matter what it's always an excursion and a means to an end.... a poem written to capture a moment in time.
This is your best, I think, Ann. Thank you O, Light of Nordic Sky, oh sweet, kind soul.
~A