A Walking Sadness Poem by Richard George
A Walking Sadness
The Euston Road. April. Night.
Of all these London numberless
I love one:
my old shoes pound her name,
Lorna. Lorna.
Poet's shoes.
Now I SEE faces pass,
projected on her photoplay
for not being Lorna:
I have never felt this living,
thirty and a day
in artificial light and rain
and windscreen tear-blink.
Beautiful but sad pictures comes to me reading you poem There is such a strong sense of presence in your poem and the title is brilliant! Thank you Pia
Love the imagery...........beautifully written Richard. Sincerely, Mary
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/28/2024 9:29:10 PM # 1.0.0.1119
calming and beautiful....but it makes me sad.....when someone looses the one.....that's sad.....: ( but i like the poem.....its very well written 10+