Viewport width =
May 8, 2017 | by  | in Poetry |
Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

Nightlife

Past midnight, and, obscured by darkness,

I lie a slumbering landscape, fabric and flesh.

Still silence rises to deep steady thumping

For a moment, I think it’s my own heart pumping

But it’s drumbeats, not heartbeats,

Though they merge for a few beats,

’Til the sound fades away, the rhythm swept on

With more roads yet to course along.

 

The city may sleep, but this little beat

Is the engine of life driving on through the night

City blood’s pumped by such bass heartbeats,

Flowing through hills beaded by street lights

Orange sequins that pulse

Against blue hued sky,

Keeping our little world alive.

Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

About the Author ()

Add Comment

You must be logged in to post a comment.

Recent posts

  1. Access Denied – Invisible City
  2. Tapu and Noa
  3. It’s not you, it’s Hookup Culture
  4. VUWSA
  5. Touching on Taboo
  6. WOMAD
  7. National Urges Govt to be More Ambitious with Child Poverty Legislation
  8. Doin’ it for the Retweets: NZ Police’s Rainbow Car
  9. Postgrad Informer
  10. Sexual Violence Court Pilot
Website-Cover-Photo7

Editor's Pick

This Ain’t a Scene it’s a Goddamned Arm Wrestle

: - SPONSORED - Interior – Industrial Soviet Beerhall – Night It was late November and cold as hell when I stumbled into the Zhiguli Beer Hall. I was in Moscow, about to take the trans-Mongolian rail line to Beijing, and after finding someone in my hostel who could speak Englis