Treasure Island

Lamont Palmer

(July 12th,1962 / Maryland)

City Of Coldness


Snow claims walkways: restless crystals,
like they are at its mercy, but who really is,
which is the test of wind, or the speed of air.
Intimately involved, shovel and man? Most
of what you do is survive: Donner Party terms,
lachrymose stares. The hills tear up at
the mention of beauty, the only
glimmer of its truly gimcrack soul, now
hastily swirling: white twisters not believed.
Sometimes the boys slide into sad ditches,
pulled out by workmen, summoned in confusion,
but not before resolve has been unleashed,
(while egos are sated by wind chill factors)
and slick roads have been placed into perspective.

Submitted: Sunday, January 30, 2011
Edited: Wednesday, January 01, 2014

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  • Patricia Grantham (7/24/2013 8:39:00 AM)

    Loved this poem Lamont. Living in a big city can be cold and
    aloof. Everybody is about doing their own thing. The icy streets
    and gusty winds adds to the blatant surroundings. Good write. (Report) Reply

  • Shadow Girl (6/10/2011 9:18:00 AM)

    Beautiful personification. You have a unique talent. When are we going to hear a new poem from you? (Report) Reply

  • Pranab K Chakraborty (2/9/2011 7:51:00 AM)

    Skilled craft of expression haunts our intelligence. Only emotion can't hold its nectar. Beautiful crystal of poetic soul, at least, we can have the fragrance of beauty.

    Last of all we can also imitate the sound:

    MOST / OF WHAT YOU DO IS SURVIVE.....

    Regards,
    pranab
    10+++ (Report) Reply

Read all 5 comments »

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