In the dusk, in the gold when music is sold
in the leap of the street where astolables beat,
where the buildings aspire and books by the quire
are unrolled in the gold of the dust,
in the dusk, in the gold, where statues peruse
all the news from the street where the toursists refuse:
where we leapt, how we wept, where time hasnít swept
is unrolled in the gold of a lust.
In the dusk, in the gold, where students are gowned,
academia plays its lost and its found
with its ceilings all painted, rooftops round,
we unroll all the gold of a trust.
In the dusk, in the gold, the art shop expands
all the shades of the trades and faraway lands:
we have Persian incursions, Prussian and gilt
which unrolls all its gold over rust.
In the dusk, in the gold, the bricks are alive
and the tar from afarís a granualar hive,
while we wobble on cobbles, chimney pots give
and unroll all their gold in a gust.
In the dusk, in the gold, the copper things tick,
we have orreries, cogs, and telescopes, logs
of the stars and the times in metal combine
to unroll all the gold we adjust.
It is dusk, it is gold, where stories unfold
in the domes, in the spires, in rooftops of moss,
in the streets which we cross, the loss we emboss
can unroll all the gold we entrust.
See the new NaPoWriMo poems as they pop up, complete with pics of the handwritten drafts, and suggest titles for them, via whatever social media you call home:
All my poems on this site are now #FreeForPoets to play with, to write hybrid forms such as glosas, coupling poems, golden shovels, acrostics, centos, and erasures. Full permissions here: #FreeForPoets.