Gert W. Knop Poet Prose Poetry

Oxford

Oxford

The filigree of the old and wounded tower,
rays of stone to soften the sky,
Oxford,
rain falls to drown the silent dreams of history.
The Botanic Garden,
boats like wooden chains on the water.
From the Botanic Garden the flowers sing, together with the birds of
ancient history.
The old walls of soft and yellow stones,
forgotten architecture of present time.
And the years fall over humid streets,
fall like drops of deep pearls of a silent sea. 
Across the colleges, I pass the parks, guided without deviation.
In the night  the lights let
the streets flower, like phantastic flowers of spring.
The filigree of the city is deep and freshly engraved.
Rain falls to clean the sites,
with a new light.

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Andrea Dietrich February 14, 2011 at 11:36 PM I don't think I have ever seen a place such as Oxford described so eloquently before!!

Denis Joe July 29, 2009 at 2:23 AM This is excellent. It has the feeling of a pastoral which cities like Oxford seem to exude. But you paint the picture with a clean brush. I like that there is no sickly sentimentality that the flow of the narrative is uncluttered and that the poem acts as an object in that it does not pass judgement. A fantastic piece of writing that has an excellent ending.

Steve Meadows July 27, 2009 at 6:27 PM nice poem. check out some of my poems