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CITY LIGHTS AT THE STATION, 12th in the Scuppernong Series

The windshield wipers were in sync with the music
“Kashmir’s” pedestrian bass beats the rainwater out of view.

This busy stretch of road moves in the dark
in front, a never ending moving reel of film

pulling up, stopping at the train station
suitcases are coughed up from the trunk.

the car pulls away into the rain, wipers still moving magically
as I watch as the rain blurs it all, until only the red prisms of taillights show.

Waiting there at the turnstile, all the other people are fast moving clocks
mine winds to its own speed, not following the others

there is the pushing, sometimes squashed bodies
and the desire to lose my baggage on the great concourse.

I am an island in this ocean of angry green water.
keeping balance amongst the swells.

His uniform sharply pressed, the attendant
moves the castoff suitcases into the lost luggage room.

There is jostling, the moving, pulling, with fists clenched around tickets
crows come out when the station’s loudspeakers announce

they fly, diving on the heads of passengers
the weary crowd smells of day old clothes

people are lapping on the street like waves to the shore
standing, on the curb, feet all sandy and wet.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Last few words: 
FOOTNOTE: Kashmir is the seventh cut on Led Zepplin’s “Physical Graffiti” album, that came out in 1975.
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

coming back to this one. Just not ready for something like this, this morning. ~ Geez.
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Always appreciated!

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Raywhitakerblog.wordpress.com
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author comment

the rain, unrelenting and reflected in in the yellow lights in front of the rail-station. The driver gets out, head hunched under his sodden hat, to practically throw the luggage to the street; waiting just long enough to collect his fare and then driving off; music booming, into the night. Do you actually abandon your suitcases? I feel the longing of not wanting to be at the end of your journey. The sad feeling of having to rejoin the surge of humanity that washes the shore of your island. Sandy feet, wrinkled and wet, wondering if they will ever be warm and dry again. Great images! ~ Geez.
.

Vote for your favorite poem of the year!
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Eleven,,,ish,, "stanzas" ‽

I see eleven poems here mate,
pick any one you like and post it as a stand alone poem on another site of your choosing, and, see what feedback you get.... I loved it.

Obi.

OK, thanks you guys. I appreciate the heartfelt comments and critique.

I was not really thinking that this was held together enough.? When I read this out loud is seems to move along.

The two line stanza seemed the thing to do. I think these are called a couplet, could be wrong there.

This one is unpublished on any other site, written in ‘18, edited a few times….

Y’all’s opinion is requested….

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Raywhitakerblog.wordpress.com
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author comment

usually rhyme. But, the operative word here, is usually. I do think that it moved well and I got some very sharp images. ~ Geez.
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Vote for your favorite poem of the year!
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