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Suburbia in December (Free verse) by Nicholas Jones Blank nights, fog clouding the estate,
sharp corners and black ice cause cars
to spin from roads, making people late
for who knows what? It blots out even stars,
but from the fog a headlight glares, too bright,
it shines on houses. Then pedestrians fall
on compacted snow - all does not look right.
Tonight we can be gloomy, that is all.
From in the fog a headlight glares at me
I hide my eyes but still feel its despair.
Below is solid ice, while even trees
seem strange, downcast - like they should not be there
The transformation scares me, but I walk on
To contemplate the rising of the sun.
Up the ladder:
Poem #5 (of a series of poems for Boo)
Down the ladder:
Faith
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 6.125
Posted: October 3, 2002 7:11 AM PDT; Last modified: October 4, 2002 6:36 AM PDTWeighted score: 5.302559 Overall Rank: 3663 Comments:
[9]
Christof @ 195.172.133.226
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3-Oct-02/7:32 AM
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Reply
An little element of comedy in the middle (the people's non-superficial injuries)- i'd like to see more of that. I wonder if you need the last two lines? The atmosphgere of this I like
[n/a]
Nicholas Jones @ 137.44.1.200
> Christof
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4-Oct-02/6:36 AM
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This is now the original version of the poem, in the form of the sonnet, which I think now was much better.
[0]
lukehanney @ 212.219.142.161
> Nicholas Jones
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24-Oct-02/8:31 AM
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Reply
SHUT UP WHAT ARE YOU TALJKING ABOUT. IT DOESN'T EVEN RHYME
[n/a]
Nicholas Jones @ 137.44.1.200
> lukehanney
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25-Oct-02/6:56 AM
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Actually, it does rhyme. I don't mind mindless abuse, but try and base it in reality.
You could be something other than gloomy. Nights like that are beautiful.
Oh, wait, this is suburbia. All right, all you could be is gloomy. You're quite right.
Yes that is better - tighter.
I'm glad you agree. I'm getting quite obsessed with the sonnet form. I think I've finally got over reading all 129 or whatever of Shakespeare's in one week in first year.
Yes that does tend to put you off. They all merge into one after a while. Oh the years of trauma....
I STILL HATE YOU
THIS POEM IS UTTER RUBBISH
The images are good. Perhaps you should compare it to my recent poem "The Story of Randal Pants-Jones". I almost feel guilty about now that I enjoyed some of your work.
I am glad you like my poem. But there's no need to hate the Welsh - the English do that already (and I am, actually, half English).
Excellent! ladies and gentle men we have been graced this evening with the pride of wales himself...Nicholas Jones..<the crowd of course is completely asleep at this point or in a stupor..not even knowing half way near to where in the fuck wales is [south west england, i believe, capitol, Cardiff, known for steel, coal, welsh cakes..dylanthomas, {still no one moves fat chick farts again and this time giggles} protestants? COME ON PEOPLE! the land of the poets and singers taliesin? Dafydd ap fucking Gwilym the EISTEDDFODD! FOR FUCKS SAKE..three people get up and leave..ah fUCK YOU TOO, SCREAMS BACHUS..come on nick i'll by you a drink, by the way nice poem dude
..do you go to the college of medicine? or saint david? Bachus and nick walk off into the iced over night to find the nearest pub, and a reason to sing anew.. 243 view(s)
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