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Hands Across the Park

The New York winter sun
has risen in your East,
and will set in my West,
for this one shortest day.
A world shrunk to a patch
of wooded arbours
where souls can meet
and find their willing flesh.

This snow-cloaked park
is all that lies between,
its crooked, spinstered trees,
naked from abandoned leaves,
are veiled and downed with
the frost-flecked confetti
of fleeting bridal relief.

Your seventieth to
my eighty first,
with many roads and
twisted paths between.
But none where line of sight
is lost to break our gaze.

Your brown, my blue,
their two philosophies
deep liquid pools
of trust that beggar words,
though we will speak them
because we must
to be ourselves.

Words that will bind us
where we linger hand in hand,
conjoined by thoughts
and then full lips;
warmed by this local sun
that will change the paths
which drove us north from south,
and bring our distant souls,
lost in their wandering,
together at its zenith.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back


Its good to be back. All the best Keith

author comment

I wish I could find something to criticize on this, but I can't. It is well written, flows smoothly and I love the use of words in it. Well done sir.

"If all printers were determined not to print anything till they were sure it would offend nobody, there would be very little printed. " Ben Franklin

Means a great deal coming from you. All the best Keith

author comment

otherwise you can't read the words lol. Thanks for the lovely comment. Love Keithy

author comment

Actually there is an intention to leave the reader hanging at the end since the final bringing together is supposed to be only the beginning. I suppose I felt the whole poem was about their coming together in this dramatic fashion in Central Park.....what happened next is another story. However I will give it some thought. Love and hugs BB

author comment

absolutely nothing to crit.
love judy

'Each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
shall draw the Thing as he sees It, for the God of Things as They are.'
(Rudyard Kipling)

and thanks so much for the comment. Keith x

author comment

for such an appreciative comment Morgana and welcome back to Neopoet. Best wishes Keith

author comment

Hi Keith.

Lovely poem about love's ardour, inside its arbor of limbs entwined and poems rhymed. ;-)


seems to come together and meld - I imagine Central Park and the communities that bound its sides and how in such a large city there are many subcommunities - varied and diverse and yet its dynamic brings them together as one.... maybe I am reading too much into this poem, but that is the chord it struck on this reading.

'Break, break break on thy cold grey stones, O Sea.'

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