City Lights by Rick Mobbs; original available on his blog, “Mine Enemy Grows Older”

This was written in response to Rick Mobbs’ painting, “City Lights”, pictured above. While not a prompt poem, this is ekphrastic in nature. Enjoy.

-Nicole
—————————————————
awake

the stars at night twinkle
hot blue-white points of light against a
big black indigo nothing
but something is here
the city

she sleeps, yet wide awake
blooming nightmares all around
and dreams profound, some without sound
yet some in full technicolor noise

like
trumpets on a hot jazz griddle
like
the riddles of love and seduction
composed by couples in shadows
who whisper sweet and wicked nothings into each other’s ears
and those nothings becoming somethings
cocks and cunts dancing after
hours in private apartment juke joints

like
neon buzzing a few blocks away
while concrete trees stab the black above
these blocks rise from the ground, built up
by the hands of grown up children
you see, Johnny played with his concrete block set
and he built a city
built an empire
where people swarm

like
the hum of that bee-hive swarm
of people dancing, drinking, oohing and ahhing
trading coins, trading paper
shouting, screaming, fucking
blowing music, saintly and sweet or raucous and replete
with expletives many care to delete
into the air
and into each other’s ears

like
the music of rain on asphalt
turning streets into black patent leather snakes
hissing beneath these Western skies
while hot white points of light dance
above streets
above girded iron
above bridges over untroubled waters
and these waters become black mirrors
joining the snakes in a reflection chorus
of endless Hallelujahs

like
the silence of trees
reaching up, grabbing the black sky into their arms
shining bare bark faces in headlights, in street lights
like
crickets and owls as a backup chorus for
outskirt desert silence
spoiled only by the punctuation of cars
growling down empty streets

but go beyond the tree borders
move past this silence
and listen
the ghosts of pueblos are here
standing against the sky in dark square shadows
this is the land they once claimed
they still stand sturdy, carrying
ladders in their mouths and on their breasts
Hopi chants rise with smoke, levitate over flat rooftops
where prayers and answers land, pause, then rise up
to Heaven

listen
behind the city these ghosts stand in half-tones
bare to our not-naked and jaded ears
if you bother to listen, you can hear them
pause, breath silence, shut eyes
hear these ghosts

listen
to these ghosts and
the modern desert city, our imitation pueblos
juxtaposed
one sleeps gently, perchance to dream
the other parties in a full-tilt boogie to seize
what’s left of this whore, the night
they consume with fires of lust and desperation
or wildness and adventure
hear
hunger against hunger

keep listening
until the sunrise
rise up to meet the morning
climb to the flat tops of the cliffs to your east
these platforms erected before you cried outside
your mother’s womb
consecrated to greet God
your gentle footsteps scrape, crunch, crackle

now breathe
and hear the silence of your awe and wonder
this day will be christened when the sun touches its face
what will you call it?
the choice is yours

now speak
and hear the sound
of the music in your voice
and realize, as you name this day
that you are
indeed
awake

Written 12/9/08
© 2008 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.

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