The writer's inspiration
The glossy lamp-posts,
like the tremulous,awakening stars,
light up one by one with a click...
and with an incredible manifestation:
they announce a spectacular sunset
to impatient and eager lovers...
lost in profound contemplation,
feeling the urge of improvisation!
Serenity descends on the white crushing waves
to conceal the ablaze horizon with indignation;
will this splendor incite the writer's inspiration,
whose simple words,with elaborate insight,
can console the painters' hearts
when they lack inspiration?
Already the conspiring fire-flies seem frantic,
they cautiously search the grass by the tall pine-tree:
to plan a night of mystery,
and to adorn the fragrant air with magic!
They are no lush hills,or
to ward off the unpredictable ocean...
or the unguarded sky,so prone to invasion:
a sky that harbored the cowards' madness!
They came forward,with full force,
to bring down the impressive Twin Towers:
symble of wealth,of power,
of brother-hood and unity!
They came to kill with idious minds,
and to destroy thousands of innocent lives;
but our selfless,fallen heroes
have made us stronger,
wiser and we are still free!
Even when the weather is unkind
and helpless flowers are swept away by a gelid wind,
snow and rain still embellish,with fine decor,
Manhattan's magnificent sky-line;
and Lady Liberty,weeping...
welcomes to her thriving shore:
the freedom seeker...
immensely grateful and widly smiling!
The towering sky-crapers
can hardly breath
among the limited spaces:
ask the laborious builders
with sun-tanned faces...
they were the ones fighting off sweat and heat,
waiting to behold with pride
and rewarding hardship:
their ingenious work before the applauding
and cheering elite!
With beauty and gloominess around...
to spark the writer's inspiration,
the unsteady hand jolts down
vague words swerving on the straight lines
to conceive his outmost defination,
which one day will be repudiated with disguise:
by literati's own interpretation!
------ Andrew Crisci
*** Posted by Andrew Crisci on 2004-11-07 ***
In memory of that terrible day of 9/11, I have recently been inspired to write words in a bid to try to feel that day and the emotion from it.
Below is the result.
Another Day In Paradise
Dedicated to all those 9/11 left behind
Hot coffee, child on knee, another day for my love and me,
A gentle kiss at the door, jingle of keys, in the car,
Radio on, didn’t see my mom that I adore,
See her tomorrow, I’m sure.
Through the highway, crowned with spectres,
Windows glistening in the morning sun,
Growing taller as the road runs on.
The street newsboy with undone laces,
Shouts out the lament of others in faraway places,
Falling on ears too hurried to listen, as paces quicken.
Another day in paradise, time to roll another dice,
Squeaky shoes, expensive hues,
Wait for the elevator to rattle its way upward,
Doors open, hustle into space, with leather case,
Jokes and tales already begun, over hot coffee and iced buns.
Switch on, program to run, things to file, meetings today,
What a beautiful sight across the bay,
Tap on the door, “Your meeting's at four,”
Loved ones captured in gilded frame, to busy to see them looking at me.
Tapping of keys, as my thoughts appear upon the screen,
Then silence, it seems, as it waits for me to contemplate the next line–it's gonna be good this time!
All went well that day until hell knocked my door,
I fell to the floor, upon broken glass,
The dragon's fire burns inside, must call my wife, can’t move, nowhere to hide.
In twisted web did I lay, amongst girders of steel and falling clay.
The screams and bells grow distant now,
“I love you” was the only sound, as the darkness closed around.
Except for one drawing near, “Dear Father, is it you?”
“Come on, Son,” as he took my hand,
And rose upon celestial waves, as we left this land,
Upward did we rise, for another day in paradise.
© Chris Whooley, 2004
*** Posted by Chris Whooley (U.K.) on 2004-11-07 ***