In the Darkness of the City

In the darkness of the city a weapon clatters to the pavement.

Nobody listens.

The traffic clamours.


She was once moon-eyed and young, trying

Her wings.

Now, in a dark alley, a middle-aged woman lifts up her tear-stained

Face and is dragged behind the rubbish bins,

Into the shadows.

She lies amongst the rotting rubbish, she does not dare to breathe

Or move.

She listens.

The whole world leans back toward its own darkness,

And she leans into hers.


© Kim M. Russell, 2016


Image found on Pinterest

My response to imaginary garden with real toads Play It Again, Toads

For Play it Again, Toads, where archived challenges of the Imaginary Garden come to life again, I have chosen Grace’s James Wright challenge from December 2014, which is to write a new poem or prose poem in response to James Wright’s words, for example, affirming what the speaker said or using his title or line of verse as a jumping board for our own writing.  


By James Wright

The moon drops one or two feathers into the field.

The dark wheat listens.

Be still.


There they are, the moon’s young, trying

Their wings.

Between trees, a slender woman lifts up the lovely shadow

Of her face, and now she steps into the air, now she is gone

Wholly, into the air.

I stand alone by an elder tree, I do not dare breathe

Or move.

I listen.

The wheat leans back toward its own darkness,

And I lean toward mine.


16 thoughts on “In the Darkness of the City

  1. She lies amongst the rotting rubbish,
    she does not dare to breathe. Or move..She listens.
    The whole world leans back toward its own darkness

    A pretty lass before now abandoned in the alley.,what went wrong.? Nice adaptations from James Wright!

    (Kim Ma’am, you had commented on Hank’s old posting of Dec 13, 2014. Hank had mistakenly posted it to the current date when making references to it but did not delete it in time – apologies!)

    Liked by 1 person

  2. There are bitter truisms, when it comes to streetwise and the street-savvy survivors who found themselves forced through it. You did a nice poem on the topic with your ‘In the darkness of the City’.

    Here is one lesson I turned into micropoetry. Feel free to delete it, as I don’t mean to hype myself like a spammer. 😉

    Saturday Night Special
    © Andrè M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved

    Crime-rate arose
    & dark is the night
    cower in fear
    or dare living ur life
    With my future bleak
    freeing you
    was the best I could do.

    Liked by 1 person

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