Best Cobblestones Poems
cobblestones of quicksand
tapestries of oil
teardrops of marble
left out to boil
fingerprints of tree sap
diamonds of wood
ceilings of water
- not what it should
sea breeze of fire
windmills of stone
whispering of evergreens
as I stand alone
I wonder what she dreamed when
She walked barefoot over cobblestone streets
In 1864.
Did she fancy where her future would take her
What her descendants would be?
Would they remember their veteran,
Her husband from the Civil War.
As crows perched on his wooden cross?
She dreamed of an assortment of children;
Maybe she even dreamed of me.
Fruit Loop cobblestones
pave my way
to bottles of milk.
Those stones had heard the children’s cries
Hosanna to the King
A donkey brought the Man of Peace
To hear Jerusalem sing.
But soon a dreaded whipping post
Placed on some others stones
Would hear the soldiers’ hateful jeers
And Mercy’s gasps and moans.
And blood would leave the Vessel pure
And pay sin’s awful cost.
A Mother wipes the crimson ground
To salvage what she lost.
My mind awakens
to this extravagant pull
like being jerked
when standing to close
to a jet engine starting.
I feel my top rise,
mind diving
for the feel of the wolf
arising from its cage,
surfing on a wave of adrenaline.
Shaking off the lethargy
of my hibernation,
hunger stands up
snapping at its chains,
my thoughts
traveling inches
over the turbulent ocean
snatching tastes of scents,
ever drawing closer
to the reason
of this rude awakening.
Every second
another part of me
coalesces into
the true extension
of my morbid being.
A spark of direction
pops into my brain
and I step onto the light killing shadow
of a red oak
becoming a part of the darkness.
The glint of lights
and the glitter of the waves
exist and de-exist
as I pass.
Reforming in the endarkened corner
of a garden near a park,
tiny shrubs
entwined in vines.
Shift,
behind an evergreen
across the park,
Push,
in a bookstore
aisle three
narrow but sleek,
Stab,
behind my prey
walking unsuspectingly.
Standing
from the shadow
of the street sign in front of him
I ensnare my fingers
around his throat
drawing him
into the ebony silk
that is me.
Slash,
he slams
into a cobblestone wall
in a slim alley I’ve chosen.
Right foot sliding
I drop into a crouch,
left finger blades
tearing through
the flesh behind the right knee-cap
then flinging it,
spraying a crimson trail
and hobbling my prize.
I slam myself against the wall,
staggering into its shadow
then reforming,
drawing him in close.
Bringing my head near his ear
I crack my throat,
educating him to my primal cause,
“All humans are hardwired
to savage
ANY which cause harm
to a loved one.
Too bad for you”,
then for emphasis
I rip off the funnel shaped appendage,
spitting it in his face.
I draw out my soul,
stretching shadows,
encasing us in fog
and dispersing myself within.
Left forearm and claw forming
I gouge the chest,
blood splattering the stone walls,
slowly
I bring my face out
and lick the flesh
from my sickle like blades
then slam my head into his
as my right hand
forms behind the left kidney,
the momentum
sends the carcass into a spin
and as shrieks
of pain escape his lips
I drive my teeth
into the skin on his chest
ripping it from the bones,
wale assault my ears
causing shivers.
Drawing back
I enjoy the quivering a moment
then palm strike
into the sternum,
shards of calcium
flying into my snout
while blood slides down my neck
finally driving
my thirst into a frenzy,
my teeth shred the heart
as I remove it
from its resting place
and I spit it on the ground
as he lays down for the last time.
I slide back beneath the red oak.
Taste my reach.
Why so loud?
Go quiet into the night,
hear the cobblestones
announcing your departure
from this world-
to an empty night.
The bars
collect all the people in this world.
They smile, feed off each other:
finding friends, eternal love.
You
are left with nothing
but a memory:
like a trumpeter sustaining a note,
a beautiful note
it is;
but the unspoken secret
of every sound,
is in the fragility of a breath...
is that it’s ending...
is that it’s ending...
Soft drizzle falling
Streets in an ancient city
Shining cobblestones
I am a student in Paris, a med-school freshman, one of the crowd.
This week is all introductions, orientation functions and instructions.
“Settle in, get your books, parking passes and find your classes.”
I got my ID - I’m a Vip in the bourgeoisie - does that look like me?
Freshmen join a ‘buddy program’ so things seem less hostile
I met my buddy last week, she’s the consummate boss - effortlessly busy.
She’s got my folder (oh my), full of check-lists. I’ve yet to see her smile.
She’s a third year, from Chamonix, a town in the jagged Alps, near Italy.
If you want me, right after classes, I’ll be at Les Deux Parisiens,
a shaded coffee shop across from school that feels like a garden.
They have everything - from coffee to pizza - it’s awesome
for 17€ : try the ‘La Campione,’ pizza with beef and chorizo (sausage)
I am a student in the misty rain, stepping carefully on cobblestones
- they pool water geometrically - I’m heading home (6 Av.) walking alone.
Nothing’s still, classes end at noon - it’s the city, sidewalk’s are full, Ubers
uber, mopeds mope, bikes bike, people scatter, umbrellaless commuters.
I haven’t made any new friends yet - I’m not worried - I’m just beginning.
.
.
Songs for this:
Day Tripper by MonaLisa Twins
Café Europa by Quadro Nuevo
Count Contessa by Azealia Banks & Lone [E]
Robinson Crusoe by Art of Noise
.
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6 Av. = what I’ll call Grandmère’s hôtel particulier