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Falling Snow

On those cloudy early evenings of
winter months is conjured up a certain chill,
even in the steam of this tropic place.
Unlocked are stored up memories
of other winters long forgotten.

There the sounds of evening traffic and the city’s
passing life are muffled deep within a wintery baffle.
This quite broken only by the occasional and
repetitious clunk of a carelessly fastened snow chain,
against the undercarriage of a home bound car.

Distant neon lights cast a crimson glow across
a charcoal sky while tiny bits of frozen heaven
twinkle as they float within the range of
endless strands of street lights.

Now I stand upon that deserted
street in black snap up boots,
feeling that refreshing chill again.
And all is silent, except for the
sound of falling snow.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
Review Request (Direction): 
How was my language use?
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?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 


Thanks for the read, Beau and your comments. That is an interesting title suggestion and one worth considering. The poem is a little long and could use some trimming. Sometimes I try to cover to much ground. May be a case in point. Again, thanks for your interest.


Gerald Walsh

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