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The Walking Man...

I see you walking all alone
So many places, I've seen you roam

Far uptown, and downtown too
Sometimes, I see you someplace new

I often think, I'll ask one day
What makes you walk all that way?

I wonder what your thoughts might be?
I've seen you look right at me

But, you just turn your head and walk
If I stopped, would you talk?

I think about your solititude
I'd interrupt, but it might be rude

What would you say, should I question?
What makes you walk, in this direction?

You walk with such a measured pace
Hands in pockets, serene of face

Whitened hair, brown of eye
Slender frame, head held high

You are familiar from afar
When I drive the streets in my car

I might just stop, one day to see
If I could have you talk with me

Maybe tomorrow...

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Last few words: 
True story.
Editing stage: 


on a slow afternoon.
If I should really see you there
I will wonder if I dare
To ask you just to talk with me
Then we might sit without the glass
To look upon the park's green grass
Thanks Ian, ~ Gee

Come to chat every Thursday - 3:30 to 4:30 pm. EST.
With: c Lynn Brooks and Geezer

author comment

Is a word I should have put in there somewhere, because that's what he is...dignified. I imagine him to be maybe around 65 to 75 years old. He has white hair, beard and moustache, and he carries himself straight.
His pace is not hiurried, but it certainly eats up the miles. I am liable to see him miles away from where I saw him just a couple of hours ago. Thank you for the kind comments, I tried to keep it in the sense of my wondering where he goes, and why. ~ Gee

Come to chat every Thursday - 3:30 to 4:30 pm. EST.
With: c Lynn Brooks and Geezer

author comment

I have seen the type you describe so well in this gentle write. I have 2 suggestions you might think on :
L-7 I wonder what your thoughts might be
L-13 What would you say if I should question
....just a coupla alternatives.....................scribbler

you have made a couple of good suggestions. I have implemented them both, and I think it does read smoother. Thanks Stan. ~ Gee

Come to chat every Thursday - 3:30 to 4:30 pm. EST.
With: c Lynn Brooks and Geezer

author comment

A frenzied passion for art is a canker that devours everything else.

A sweetheart is a bottle of wine, a wife is a wine bottle.

All which is beautiful and noble is the result of reason and calculation.

Always be a poet, even in prose.

An artist is an artist only because of his exquisite sense of beauty, a sense which shows him intoxicating pleasures, but which at the same time implies and contains an equally exquisite sense of all deformities and all disproportion.

Any healthy man can go without food for two days - but not without poetry.

Any man who does not accept the conditions of life sells his soul.

Any newspaper, from the first line to the last, is nothing but a web of horrors, I cannot understand how an innocent hand can touch a newspaper without convulsing in disgust.

Anybody, providing he knows how to be amusing, has the right to talk about himself.

As a small child, I felt in my heart two contradictory feelings, the horror of life and the ecstasy of life.

Beauty is the sole ambition, the exclusive goal of Taste.

But a dandy can never be a vulgar man.

Common sense tells us that the things of the earth exist only a little, and that true reality is only in dreams.

Even if it were proven that God didn't exist, Religion would still be Saintly and Divine.

Even in the centuries which appear to us to be the most monstrous and foolish, the immortal appetite for beauty has always found satisfaction.

Everything considered, work is less boring than amusing oneself.

Everything for me becomes allegory.

Everything that is beautiful and noble is the product of reason and calculation.

Evil is committed without effort, naturally, fatally; goodness is always the product of some art.

heehee, all said by Charles Baudelaire, the French poet, who coined the term "flaneur" as "a person who walks the city in order to experience it". Which could make an interesting alternative title "The Flaneur"

Just ask the bugger, the worst that can happen is he goes psycho and shoots you.

A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'

or all of those thoughts in his head, he just might! Ha,ha,ha,...
Faith is an unreasonable assurance, that everything is as it should be. ~ Geezer

Come to chat every Thursday - 3:30 to 4:30 pm. EST.
With: c Lynn Brooks and Geezer

author comment

Thanks for sharing your curiosity. In fact, that might be part of a different title, not that you need one.
I get the picture of the man walking and that is how I usually judge the value of a poem, if I get the picture, it is a good poem.


Vexations. I'm glad you get the picture. I try hard to give it. This guy reminds me of the old cartoon character, from the Grateful Dead videos. He has the smooth walk of him, that just eats up the miles. ~ Gee

Come to chat every Thursday - 3:30 to 4:30 pm. EST.
With: c Lynn Brooks and Geezer

author comment
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