Fine line city

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Fine line city
In fine black ink
On blank white paper
Fine lines in ink

Rectangles and squares
some tall some small
Triangles and spires
A gentle city sprawl

Fine shapes in white
Very softly not made
lukewarm insinuations of
sounds, light and shade

Just some odd rectangles
Become buildings with names
On them, hints of hashes
Wink a hundred windowpanes

Sentinel rectangles 
In a fine straight row
The blank line in front
A fine staight road

By the buildings with names
Light, shade and sky
A road that wasn't drawn
And a river flowing by

Fine wispy lines around
Feathers in the sky
Faraway, the wings of
soaring birds that fly

Fine line skies
Look washed out blue
White billowing clouds
Conjured in curlicue

It was never really drawn
The road, miles long
It wasn't really sketched
light, shade or birdsong

Gaps in between
The black fine lines, become
Beautiful streets
From captured times

Colorful streets, and a
windy downtown, and the
clang of the bus-bell, as the
bus slows down

The warmth of a noon, and the
Sounds of construction, and the
Dust of concrete, and
Shops of colorful confection

The hurry and the scurry
Jaywalkers on the roads
Newspaper stands, and the
Loading-zone loads

Beeps of the backups, and the
squeals of tires, as the
lights change colors, and the
Fallen flying flyers

Honks of cars, and the
Cycles on sidewalks, and the
Tinkle of their bells, and cheerful
Music on the rocks

Old men on the benches, chatting
People walking home, and a
Plane with trailing flyers
From the aerodrome

***

The paper on my desk
Looking washed out today
Shows a vista of the city
From ten miles away

Just a black ink sketch
In the finest of points
Light lines on paper
Dainty, soft, disjoint

Fine white paper, on my
golden oak table, by a
window in my house, my chair 
Sunny leather, sable

Each day that dawns, in the
Glowing warm sunrays
Glowing inner gold, my desk
Has a tigereye glaze

Outskirts of the city, is this
Golden glazed land, and the
Bright leaves of fall, are all
Red, brown and sand

From the white wooden window, I smell
Roses and wood shaves, I see
Green lawns on the block
Sunny gates and enclaves

Fine black lines
And the mellow morning sheen, on the
Old white paper, make it
Blue, yellow and green

In my house in this city, is this
City in my house
Fine line city, from the
Magic of the Chaus

In my home in the city, I watch
Dewdrops play with light, and my
Day will be today, just
Fine-line bright

Fine line city, in which I
Sleep under starlight, as the
Warm gusts of wind, rustle
Tinsels of the night


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8 Apr. 2018
11:22 AM