01-23-2023, 08:15 AM
Hi Tim-
I always like your imimitable style, and this piece is no exception. Below I have highlighted phrases that work best for me:
Alphaville was my home but I left it long ago
in flight from one of Alphaville’s daughters.
Now I have returned old and still heart blind
to spawn memories, to die
amid the shining new Metropolis
a City no longer my home, but my Exile.
Like Nostradamus in his midnight tower
staring into a bowl filled with spring water
hypnotized by the asylum dark of stars
reflected there into visions of the future
I gaze tonight across Alphaville
see visions of my past reflected in its lights.
My life is written there, a coded holograph,
in its ragged alleys and forgotten paths
not yet scourged and cleansed by the Contemporary.
And if I stand in just the right spot
looking at just the right angle
I can see again my last love, my Odile
her small bodied, black-eyed, ivory skinned self
though she was never mine nor anybody’s.
She is married now, she has a child,
she looks just like everyone else.
There the vision ends, and I am left
with all that remains of my distilled dream
of Alphaville, all but emptied
by my expectant heart.
I do think that you could offer more descriptive images of Alphaville, to add more realism.
May be more later, after I re-read your poem.
Thanks for this obne,
Mark
I always like your imimitable style, and this piece is no exception. Below I have highlighted phrases that work best for me:
Alphaville was my home but I left it long ago
in flight from one of Alphaville’s daughters.
Now I have returned old and still heart blind
to spawn memories, to die
amid the shining new Metropolis
a City no longer my home, but my Exile.
Like Nostradamus in his midnight tower
staring into a bowl filled with spring water
hypnotized by the asylum dark of stars
reflected there into visions of the future
I gaze tonight across Alphaville
see visions of my past reflected in its lights.
My life is written there, a coded holograph,
in its ragged alleys and forgotten paths
not yet scourged and cleansed by the Contemporary.
And if I stand in just the right spot
looking at just the right angle
I can see again my last love, my Odile
her small bodied, black-eyed, ivory skinned self
though she was never mine nor anybody’s.
She is married now, she has a child,
she looks just like everyone else.
There the vision ends, and I am left
with all that remains of my distilled dream
of Alphaville, all but emptied
by my expectant heart.
I do think that you could offer more descriptive images of Alphaville, to add more realism.
May be more later, after I re-read your poem.
Thanks for this obne,
Mark