What brilliant new opportunities
To expand upon these blessings,
Adding richness to the city I love
And called home for all my life.
I’ve been here through the good and bad,
Baseball fields in the summer heat
Tucked to bed under sheets of snow
And ice. How I have cherished every
Thought provoking memory,
Every heartbreaking tragedy,
Every personal progression,
And every fresh transition.
A sponge at the bottom of the ocean
That is Lexington at its finest
With budding schools of thought,
Image, and mounting creativity,
Induction of the artsy kind,
A revolution, a family.
For ten long years, I am aggregate
With all these precious things to say,
So very few to hear them
Because they’ve always belonged to the seed.
I am free now in this formless formula,
A style built of my own and all else
With the time for quiet long since passed.
Can I make myself be heard? Yes.
Silence has been precious always
But now it will not satisfy.
I have a gift for the world and this city
Not because it’s needed or wanted
But because I need to give it
To be one with this family of visionaries
Who are my predecessors
And my inspiration.
Allow me to join the ranks
Of the voices with the most echoes
So I can learn and grow from you
And you from me
And all from everyone
For the good of this city,
For the good of this world.
Philip, I love the poem’s sense of community and nod to writing traditions. I also like how the phrase “the time for quiet” makes me think of Bettelheim’s “long, quiet concentration on oneself that is also needed.”
Thank you very much Gaby. I have not heard of Bettelheim before, so I will have to check that out when I get the chance.
Philip, I am so happy to see you on here! I love your poem!! Hope all is well with you!
Oh wow, I didn’t know you were on here, too! I’ve been doing great and I hope the same is true for you! And as always, thank you for the feedback!
very nice thanks for posting this.
And thank you for your words. This is my first time participating. I love the community feel to this project.
A city has so many sides, an allley here, another there, but its hold on a person, you, runs deep like still water…
There are several streets, roads, and alleys in this city I would love to write about. If I wanted to, all 30 of my poems this month could have been street names.
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