A seemingly humourless
middle-aged couple
pause at the entrance to the café,
then she, busty, inoffensively attired,
heaves herself up the three concrete steps
and he, thin as a famished weed,
follows
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A seemingly humourless
middle-aged couple
pause at the entrance to the café,
then she, busty, inoffensively attired,
heaves herself up the three concrete steps
and he, thin as a famished weed,
follows
I think what would be interesting in the book of these Snapshots (which would be a huge success, I'm sure you know) would be the occasional pencil drawing of the particularly engaging ones. Too many would detract from the how playfully and poignantly the reader's imagination leaps at each.
If my children weren't grown, I would read this each night to them for what it would teach them of how language is suppose to work.
I say all this because this one reminded me so much of the early sketchy black and white cartoons with the jazzy or swing soundtrack, but no dialog. They are priceless as are these.
Next time I promise to think of a better word than priceless, rather than repeat myself.
A thin, very tall young woman
wearing 2" wedge-heeled shoes,
pale, light-weight summer dress
and ash-grey, floppy-brimmed hat
folds herself into a chair
across the table
from her twinkling, mincing ju-jube
of a male friend
A young couple sit at a table
with the remains of their breakfast
between them. He, half-turned away,
immersed in a novel,
she, dabbing repeatedly at her mouth with a paper napkin,
her expression indecipherable,
the table uniting
and dividing them
That's really sad...
I'd rather be sitting with a stranger than with a lover who's a stranger.
well done. xo
I always feel so sad when I see couples like that.Quote:
A young couple sit at a table
with the remains of their breakfast
between them. He, half-turned away,
immersed in a novel,
she, dabbing at her mouth with a paper napkin,
her expression indecipherable,
the table uniting
and dividing them
Good one :thumbs_up
A tough-looking young woman
wearing white canvas gauntlets
gets down from a road-cleaning machine
and heads west on Fairmount,
her long, loose, blonde ringlets
at odds with her Don’t nobody get in my effing way walk
From my table outside Le Paltoquet
I catch sight of a serene, classically beautiful
Chinese woman’s face, incongruous
atop her taller than average body.
She looks back,
as if from her mountain temple,
at me, a lowly villager, one of those
who are forever beseeching favours.
I'm very glad I found this thread today. Keep up the wonderful work Prince, for these poems have truly enriched my day.
A mid-thirtyish guy
pushes a stroller so large
and high-tech that the baby in it
looks like a very young empress
serene and only casually aware
of her vast empire
Londoners have the most amazing baby strollers I've ever seen, like small cars really -- complete with umbrellas, rain covers, hooks for purses, baby bags, shopping, you name it! I didn't get close enough to find out if they also have hotplates and kettles for making tea on the run.
I see those high tech strollers today and wonder where they were when I used to take my small kids on a hike! ;) :)
A Sunday morning club of runners
come chundling up Esplanade,
make a dog-leg at Fairmount
and continue south,
a forest of pumping
bare, male and female legs
beneath shorts, t-shirts,
sweatshirts, windbreakers,
floppy or stiff-peaked hats,
a fiesta of joyous colour and energy
in every conceivable colour and design
Four-months old Louisa,
who reminds me somehow
of a very young Winston Churchill,
wobbles on her daddy’s lap
and over his shoulder
engages with me and I swear
I can see the intelligence
growing behind her alert, bright eyes
A woman with sparrow legs,
pursed lips,
in a drab, lime-green cardigan,
arms folded behind her back
like the Duke of Edinburgh,
moves slowly up the street
in no apparent hurry
to get anywhere at all
Without meaning to, I overhear a snatch
of conversation between two regulars
at the table behind me:
"the guy who built the boat
is sleeping with his neighbour’s wife"
and one or both of them snicker
haha, did you laugh too?
No, but I hungered for a few more details... Did the (poor?) husband know anything of what was going on? Was there any sort of connection between the building of the boat, and the affair? When the boat was completed, would the adulterous lovers take off on it leaving the cuckolded husband staring after them?
I have felt that my own snapshots are becoming a bit less fresh or spontaneous so I'll be taking a break from them. In the meantime I invited others to contribute snapshots of their own...
Facing houses
with matching empty porch swings,
rocked softly by an invisible hand,
waiting for their owners
to join them in their
contemplation.
Sunshine falls
wherever it wants.
I have no qualms
about chasing it
around the
house.
A young couple arrive
pushing a stroller
with a baby in it
underneath a big, floppy red hat
(at least, I assume there’s a baby under there).
Later, as he wakes up,
the father takes him on his lap,
turns him toward me
and I sing to him in German:
"Kommt ein fogel gefloggen...”
A magic treehouse hovers
four feet above the ground,
bright yellow shutters thrown open
to welcome the sun.
To the left, a wavy slide
and three green plastic swings,
dangle, forgotten,
in that breathless pause
that is early morning.
Remembered laughter
echoes through the playscape,
now empty and still.
Love it, D., but I could swear I posted one just before you? Gonna try and enter it again...
At the supermarket
I follow behind my shopping-cart
with absent-minded efficiency
wielding it up one aisle
and down the other,
citizen consumer,
wondering what
have I left off my list
today
^^^ Love this one too!! Especially "absent-minded efficiency".... :)
A bank of silver and red
neighbourhood mailboxes stands tall,
-- resolute, shipshape --
arms firmly at their sides,
soldierly in their posture,
with a fixed forward gaze,
brooking no interference
to the work at hand.
Just to the left,
four bright yellow tubes
lean against each other
in a lazy, disorderly clump,
waiting for their morning feed
of the daily news,
looking more like the potato-peelers
than the regular ranks.
What a wonderful counterpoint between the martial posture of those public mailboxes in the first stanza and the seemingly undisciplined private (?) ones in the second - and I love the humour of the second verse in general!
Waiting for D. this morning
was no different, I suppose,
than waiting for A., B., or C.
had been or than waiting
for E. or F. will be...
Through the window of the café
I could see the mirrored reflection
of the ceiling fan,
turning, turning