The City

Ink lings

Brazen horns protest each others presence
Steam rises from beneath the tarnished streets
Taxi’s tease with flags that say “off duty”
And in the shadows, grifters ply their trade

A cacophony of  smells assault the senses
Windows dressed, compete to catch the eye
Breezes brush against you with a stale breath
Ribbons of  cracked sidewalks meet your tread

Isolation in a sea of people
Buildings clinging tightly side by side
Sirens scream the news of unknown victims
The city owns your soul, it lives inside
 

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About oldmainer

I am a retired manager living in Southern Maine and a would be writer of poetry, narratives, short stories, and random opinions, and that's how Oldmainer was born. Recently, I decided to try an experiment. I added photography to the mix, using only a cheap cell phone with a limited camera and the editing software that came with it, and added the blog site Inklings at poormanspoet.wordpress.com to showcase the results. So, feel free to use whatever you find interesting or worthy, but please honor the terms of my copyright when and if you do. They may not be much, but they are still a piece of me. I appreciate your checking me out and hope that you find something that will encourage a return visit. Thanks for stopping by.
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