Poetry! Contained in simple tension
by the passing, glist’ning motor-cars!
‘Twixt the doppler shifts, kinetic scansion —
while a soft-ish rain obscures the stars,
and seems to hold the reeling, rolling, living universe in awe
for all the thoughts that pass but just beyond expressions of the tongue and jaw.
All of life’s defined here, now, with import:
Moments, standing still amidst this rush;
sixteen-wheelers, trav’ling from the air-port,
cutting through the wet and fog, just brush
with cosmic, vast eternities of seconds lost in thought
while, pittering and pattering, the rain keeps spine-chilling, as it ought.
Night is wondrous for this grand effecting,
for the traffic dwindles just enough
leaving ripples in the world, connecting
hearts with love of all the little stuff;
that little stuff, which settles in the mind despite the passing, speedy globe;
the little things that, shared with all, make Men to breath, to strive, to probe.