David Smalling Poet Lyric

The Traffic On the Busy Street

The traffic on the busy street
All night through Harlem roars
The haunted sound of dusky feet
The Gentle tapping at closed doors

Some eyes may meet the face and smile
Too boldly with the painted mask
The undraped innocense of child
The curtain drawn in acrid flask

I turn from them and fled the scene
The too familiar pure eyes
My mother's children in farce sheen
In a black world my soul despise

The staggering men, apartments
Haunted with penury and death
Condemning tongues, distant judgments
That taste not the fire and regret

Mere children these amidst the plot
The superficial argument
Spending fortunes to buy the rot
Of their eternal discontent

The traffic on the busy street
All night through Harlem roars
The haunted sounds of dusky feet
The longing hearts for tropic shores.

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Josie Whitehead May 1, 2012 at 3:11 AM Very good poem and I love the fact that you have brought good metre into your poem. I think your metre faltered though as you went through the poem, unfortunately, but it wouldn't take very much to perfect it. For example, in the first verse, the last line: remove the word "gentle". Go through this verse and tap out your four clear iambic feet (ie beats) per line, and you will see that by removing "gentle" it is perfect. You can usually see also by the length of lines when things falter a bit. It is excellent and worth perfecting I feel, carrying a clear wonderful message. I am a well published poet and rhythmic poetry is my speciality. Hope this helps. Well done. David Smalling May 1, 2012 at 4:48 AM Thanks, Josie. I am honored by your love, patience and help. I concede the right to you, but "gentle" holds a verbal image for me of the gentleman, or the polished, urbane, aristocrat seeking the pleasures of Harlem; and so to keep the meaning I sacrifice the meter. Keep faith