High Rises

social poem

Poem

 

High rises grow from the city like weeds.
Concrete is supple soil if
the gardener is nurturing and ruthless.
Living things need both to blossom.
The fruit the buildings bare
drips down the stem and
plops onto the street:
Men tired of being husbands,
tired of being daddies,
moguls off to run their empires,
the old rich and
nannies upon nannies,
weary eyes and curled like
bleeding hearts under the weight
of leaving their children behind
always, always in worse hands.

 

more by NOELLE CURRIE

photograph by Vladimir Kudinov

 

Image Curve’s Manifesto

Hire An Editor
Get A Quote For Your Manuscript

Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedinmail

Noelle Currie

I have been writing short fiction and poetry for ten years. I recently completed the second of two novels that are currently unpublished. I was the winner of The Book Doctor’s Pitchapalooza in 2013 and recipient of the Gold Medal in poetry in the Tunxis Academic and Art Challenge in 2009. I submit poetry and short fiction pieces to the creative writing website ImageCurve.com weekly. I graduated from the University of Connecticut in 2013 with a degree in vocal performance. My second love is singing opera.

You may also like...