Another triolet inspired by nothing in particular except an effort to rise above the bongos beneath the window and the rumba over the wall. So no complicated poetry forms for me today, sorry NaPoWriMo.
What can you see through the gap in the cloud,
Is the sky still as blue where you soar on white wings,
Is the crash of breakers beneath as loud?
What can you see through the gap in the cloud,
Do our towers of steel and stone stand proud,
Though they cannot reach where the starlight sings?
What can you see through the gap in the cloud,
Is the crash of breakers beneath as loud?
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Simple but effective Jane!
Thanks Ritu 🙂 This noise is drilling holes in my head!!!
Oh I’ll bet!!!
Still…
Your Triolet is lovely. Your introduction left me in stitches. I would have to write a rant, because my luck would be some angry young teenager with over-sized woofers in the back seat parked in front of my abode.
It’s an African custom apparently to party all day Sunday. You either love it or hate it? Guess which side I’m on…
Ambivalence?
I don’t have any time for antisocial behaviour. It’s just someone making money out of selling drink to drunks. It’s a big problem in this town where drink is sold in the bakeries, butchers, grocery stores, and every undeclared ‘restaurant’. The municipality has a containment policy—let the town centre neighbourhoods with the youngest, most diverse populations raise hell, as long as they don’t stray into the better class areas.
I understand your feelings. I “got” your poem. 🙂 Our loud racket comes amplified. Or unmuffled internal combustion.
City life is noisy at the best of times. I just don’t understand why people want to add to it!
Lovely poem. So sorry you have to endure the racket.
Thanks, Michelle, and for the sympathy 🙂