by Robert Lloyd Jaffe
The Old Man
of the Mountain
slid to his death
off the craggy peak,
and now the tourists
don't come.
If Tsukuba's peaks
became one,
would the ancient
poets run?
The city-dwellers sit
in warm rooms
and by electricity lit,
planning the next adventure.
The travelers buy their tickets,
lock the doors,
and turn on the porch light,
while the homeless
sit by the rubble of their lives,
wondering where
to spend the night.
- Share this Poem:
ABOUT THE POET ~
I am an observer and listener of the music of life. Where I find cadence, I find my interest and passion directed. It can be sound, light, smell, or purely an experience of thought. The sky, the sea, the mountains, and the machines that allow me to explore those places draw my attention, and give me serenity.
Last updated June 26, 2017