Snapshots

[PrinceMyshkin]

I was sitting on a bench
outside the Mile-End Mission
hoping to bum a conversation
from some passerby.

Cars shushed or growled by
along rue St. Urbain,
metal and glass anonymous containers
of stories I would never hear.

One of the Mission habitues
brushed the debris from the sidewalk.
Things were happening. Lord, I thought,
This is a city! This is Montreal!
Things are always happening here...

[NickAdams]

hoping to bum a conversation
from some passerby.

I really like this.

The first two stanzas suggested something that I didn't find in the third stanza, which surprised me.

I'll read the first two again with the third in mind.

Again, I really like that line. It makes me think of those individuals that desperately and hesitantly "bum" a cigarette.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Elderly nun on spindle legs
corner Bernard and Esplanade,
face like one of those sock dolls,
puckered and seamed

[qimissung]

That makes me sad, as if just because she looked like a sock doll, puckered and seamed, her life must have been sad, and perhaps nothing could be further from the truth.

[PrinceMyshkin]

That makes me sad, as if just because she looked like a sock doll, puckered and seamed, her life must have been sad, and perhaps nothing could be further from the truth.

It made me sad, too, which you picked up on and of course I knew nothing more about her than a five second glimpse through my car window could tell me...

A guy comes into the café
with hair so unruly
it would take a troupe of barbers
as disciplined as Lipizzaner stallions
to tame it

[Taliesin]

A cyclist comes tearing up the street
at a furious pace,
treats the asphalt as if it were
continuous with the sidewalk
and goes racing off
into unclaimed space.

It has been long time since you posted the poem and I read it, but I just wanted to say that this poem reminds me a lot of some futurist paintings, like, for instance this

or this

[PrinceMyshkin]

Little Esmé goes by
in her pink woolen toque,
not-quite-Coke-bottle glasses,
which lend an extra air
of vulnerability
to her already trusting face.
She is holding her mother’s, Ann’s, left hand,.
her brother, Seymour, holding the other:
Three companionable, happy adventurers
against the cold morning wind.

[PrinceMyshkin]

At the café a person
with a preposterous nose,
a nose that was like
an entire comedy routine,
aimed that nose
at the newspaper he was reading,
which lay docile, subdued
on the table in front of him

[Virgil]

At the café a person
with a preposterous nose,
a nose that was like
an entire comedy routine,
aimed that nose
at the newspaper he was reading,
which lay docile, subdued
on the table in front of him

Oh my is that good!

[Virgil]

I haven't been in this thread in a while, but this is very good:

Little Esmé goes by
in her pink woolen toque,
not-quite-Coke-bottle glasses,
which lend an extra air
of vulnerability
to her already trusting face.
She is holding her mother’s, Ann’s, left hand,.
her brother, Seymour, holding the other:
Three companionable, happy adventurers
against the cold morning wind.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Oh my is that good!

Not that I don't appreciate the rest of your comment, but those three icons preceding it gave me great pleasure. There's little I like better than giving someone a laugh. Thanks.

[PrinceMyshkin]

This guy and I were playing the game
of who has less interest in the other.

I shot him a glance that meant
I don’t know you
all the way back to your grand-father.

He responded with
I don’t recognize you
or anyone of your race or nationality.

Game, set, match.

[PrinceMyshkin]

This particular woman
with her particular child
turned west
along a certain street
and continued on.

[PrinceMyshkin]

“How beautiful I am,” thought the man in the corner
while the air around him grew warmer
and warmer. He was immune
from judgment, was the tune
behind the melody.

I envied and hated him! I wished him ill.
I wished there were someone
who would break his platinum heart
and make him human.

[Bar22do]

“How beautiful I am,” thought the man in the corner
while the air around him grew warmer
and warmer. He was immune
from judgment, was the tune
behind the melody.

I envied and hated him! I wished him ill.
I wished there were someone
who would break his platinum heart
and make him human.

What a frank, masterfully penned, moment of weakness! Cutting contrast between "his" freedom from self-judgment and "your" judgment...
But, if I may, for if not, do not read what follows, - if we have that much energy to hate and to envy, at time, and since energy is neutral and depends on its use, would it not be a good idea to redirect it to build, all of us, true self love and thus no one would have triggers to envy and wish another ill...??? and we would all be immune from judgment... I know it is more complex but let's imagine we really, all of us, love ourselves...