Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.
You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.
Click hereIt's the West in your voice.
I understand
though I've lived always in crowds,
never escaping schtetl life,
even two generations later
in America, promise handed down
from brave young grandfathers
journeying past the edge
of another culture
until they transformed
to proper old EuropeanYenkees
in fine suits with vests, hats.
My poems coast down avenues.
My muse struts grand fashion
or peers from tenement windows
writing wary East Coast poems
in hotel rooms, painting spatters
on word-washed city streets
alive at midnight
full of beep and flim-flam neon blink.
Not you.
Your poems swin in clear streams,
pan for gold off dirt trails
that lead to meadows
full of morning frost and whinny,
cabins and overgrown logger roads.
Your vistas unfurl above rivers,
and the distant ocean surrounds you
like a gentleman cowhand
with a six-shooter in one hand,
and a renaissance overflowing
the other.
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 35,000 poems.
----------
Great imagery and cultural understanding in the contrast between the dynamics of East coast urbanism and the West's dynamic promise of the future always beckoning.
i love the clever use of words!
you do make me use a dictionary quite often, but that's a good thing not a complaint!
lovely poem hun!