the shadow of the highrise
slides northward
the sun has not yet
reached the diner
But it warms the storefront
on the corner
where two shopclerks
sit in blue aprons
leaning on ledges
and crates
sharing cigarettes
and stories
it could be 1952
until a woman walks by
shouldering a laptop bag
cigarettes dismissed
they follow
back inside
Valerie Roney 
Hey Val I love it. Moi
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ooo valerie,
i think i know where u were sitting when u wrote this sohbet
am i right?
:)
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Ha Ha Yes! Some of the best people watching in the city on that corner, it’s like out of another time.
Love your poem below BTW
“everyone comes from someone I
come from city people all”
Great line!
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well I’m a city kid
Mor doesn’t have a religion
she just goes outside but
my mom’s a city grrl
Mormor was a city gal proud
to grow up on Straandvej
perfect red nails clutching hands
as she coached her barnebarn’s birth
Mor’s Farmor had a kitchen garden
on an island she biked across
Esther my country oleMor
died when I was three
Baba was a city boy
go to the river that’s
religion, go to the mother
yes darling, even Bow River bengal
engineering college on the far
shore of the Hoogly so
he moved into res
Baba’s Ma’s Baba
citified himself
dhoti so dirty village
schoolboy dhoti so black
that Teachersir ridiculed “just
write with the corner of the cloth”
never again never forgotton great
granddaughter remembers with noone left
alive to tell it in fathers
mothersfathertongue
everyone comes from somewhere I come
from 1500 square feet in an upper
middle class suburb near the
university
this Firstworld city
everyone comes from someone I
come from city people all
copyright me
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Hey jyanti,
for some reason your poem sings like a rap in my head. I agree with vlrny that your line “everyone comes from someone” if beautiful genius.
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“is” beautiful genius!
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Cool. Donna and anyone, you are welcome to steal my best lines.
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I like the last stanza :) Lovely poem Val. Personally I would start with “It could be 1952” as the first line, but that is just me <3
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Yes, great poem. Hmm, interesting idea. I don’t think I’d put “It could be 1952” as the first line, but maybe after the first stanza? But that would take some reworking… I think separating it from the laptop bag would increase the impacts of both.
Yay poems!
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Yes yes yes, you’re all chat. I’m wanting to hear YOUR poems too!
MOAR POETRY!!!
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Moar poetry! Hoar poetry! Roar!
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summer road trip
with my teen daughter
sun blazing,
music blaring
wind breezing through our hair
if I had long locks
our split ends
would intertwine
usually quiet sullen teen
today chatty as Cathy
asking mom for
words of wisdom
rare…
the asking, not the wisdom
laughter
as we compare notes
on likes and loves
and relating and dating
this afternoon ride
a bliss
a treasure
a sign
that motherhood
is all that it’s cracked up to be
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no army confiscated these
binoculars
my country
the old buoy shrivelled small and faded beside
the new smaller
than the black
eyed centre of this swollen poison pink
plastic berry does it redirect
the geese
walk alone
my neigborhood
glance with you is look
twice not
raft built over shoals
you’re right
float flagging one hazard
table huge
stone
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