December Winds

 Cool Daddy Mack

            Leans on the corner

Ready for life to deal its dice,

            Chance left to December winds 

 

Popped snug collars

Cover ears,

            Lobes,

And

Pocket twitching fingers

            Herded on a brick rotted corner,

Beside horn blurting traffic

                        Under hung lights 

 

Click Clatter Clack

            Kicking off cement floor,

Tap that foot

            Big Daddy Mack,

Bite that lip 

 

Crumpled headlines and receipts

            Roll into urban

Tumble weed

 

Winter wind sneezes,

            Fate is in the air. 

Reviews

[UponATyme]

I really like the image close to the end with the "urban tumble weed." It provokes such a strong picture. As always, you love those adjectives! I'd just be careful of the placement of some of them. Like, "brick rotted corner," might be better switched around to "rotted brick corner." And maybe life should "throw" its dice instead of "deal" it. Otherwise, you've got some great alliteration in here, I love the rhythm of the piece, too.

[Lenard L. Banks III]

Beautiful write.

[Karina Longo]

Your poem has a great rhythm and it's just so original it really brings me contentment to read such a piece of writing.

[Sunni Davis]

I loved the flow and the imagery in this poem. Great piece!