Nine minutes and falling

library patronage...the bustle of its hum
air exchanger like a great breath of a ship
our space of arms and elbows on the great length
of tables

How I often move to that room
that little place
Google Maps Street view does it no justice
No great clouds of winter hovering over the bay
and sharp rounded hills
no Steam from Kimberley distant
or the Flooring plant jarring voice

the beginning of the end of the economic secure
world...

That underwood I remember
dragging it home in my long black
wool jacket ....the black Pokey pup
the stereo system
and the writings on Blue Airmail
never ending flowing like the
minute delicate dance of flakes
beyond the Chinese Screen
against the window

the patina of music and cable
television
hot showers to rid the north bitterness
and dampness from the lake storms
fifty miles east

we wrote and we wrote and we wrote
like the hunger we never filled

I wore those machines out or left them
to the hock shops

these poems reach far and deep and wide
like a sunset
like a sunrise

Thank You!

bygone echoes
keys moving rhythmically
saturating kitchen walls --echoes for me doesn't work within the image of kitchen walls, too melodramatic, also the word bygone seems archaic

your locution impeccable
assuaging a thirst conceived by barren heritage- leaving out the 'a' before barren smacks of beatnik style poetry

each numinous page
moulded my threadbare soliloquy --love this S

very assured poetry, a pleasure to read
Ross

the drywall with its oil based and then chalk covering
the keys hammering staccato
bybone village hill river lumber tourist town
with its lookout crowned with towering dark pines
like watchers watching all the riverness
the darkness seeping in through its lineage
its rise and fall
like the arms striking delicate oiled silk
the paper pinched and rolled up past
black rollers
and the return arm chrome
the Bell to Ring

the toll of the Bell....

bygone by george allright

intensely delicious write!

Thank You!