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Click hereIn this city of much,
Bryant Park
hides itself in the shadow of noise
and announces nothing.
As the sparrow sprites rummage under the ivy
looking for their lost luggage
we titter. Even this is hushed
by the silent sentinels wearing overcoats of green
and bark.
Another country may be heard,
a fly’s hiccough, the asphalt groaning,
if one listens. No one here cares
much
for that music
when there is luggage to be found.
Just wanted to comment and say that I enjoy your poetry. I really like your style.
Not much else to say, actually. Lovely poem. (Oh, NJ--Bryant Park is in New York City behind the New York Public Library's main branch, which building is fronted by some famouse marble lions. Yes, I had to look that up. :) )
even though it is perfect for what it is, what it doesn't tell me leaves me lost. Where is Bryant Park and what do marble lions have to do with it?
I loved the description of the birds and the baggage. You have a pretty good sounding poem here. By that I mean, I could hear it as well as envision. I love when a poet can do that.
NJ ( normal jean) I am logged out and forgot my freaking password, so I didn't log back in. Just didn't want to leave an anonymous comment.