City Poems

Somewhere, pungent olives and salty fish spill from wooden crates into a symphony of haggling voices. 

Elsewhere, Socrates coaxes young scholars into a dance of dialectic. 

And there, across olive-crowned hills, a swelling tide of discontent rises against the shadows of oppressive Persian rule.

Quaint Amsterdam. 

Somewhere, Rembrandt’s steady hand mixes ochres and umbres, a militia frozen in time before him. 

Elsewhere, the sweet aroma of poffertjes and tulips floats along bicycle-laden avenues. 

Then, in a cramped room, a diary cradles ink-stained secrets and whispered dreams.   

Bon dia, vibrant Barna. 

Somewhere, Guadi tinkers over a surreal dreamscape of arching architectural beauty. 

Elsewhere, Dalí melts time and defies gravity. 

And there, in a hidden tapas bar, gentle laughter and smoky jamón ibérico mingle, the scent of life as a Catalan. 

Divine Florence. 

Somewhere, lily-perfumed air hangs heavy with the scent of Medici secrets. 

Elsewhere, the Arno gently laps at the weathered stones of Ponte Vecchio, glittering grandeur waiting above. 

Then, Caravaggio’s Medusa screams in silence. 

Somewhere, Mimar Sinan turns dreams into domes and minarets, grand silhouettes soaring like prayers to the heavens. 

Elsewhere, Ottoman conquerors thread their influence deep into Africa. 

And there, in silk-laden alleys, a velvet river of Turkish coffee and cardamom delights while conversation flows free and hot. 

Gentle Kyoto. 

Somewhere, the porcelain face of a geisha passes by in a demurred blur. 

Elsewhere, wind whistles through bamboo forests, Oda Nobunaga’s relentless spirit floating on the breeze. 

And there, in a small tea house, the frothy green of matcha unfolds, ushering in a moment of tranquility. 

Lisbon, my love. 

Somewhere, the bitter scent of desperation and roasting coffee perfumes the air as Pessoa pens his seminal work. 

Elsewhere, secrets and shackles wrangle in the Belem Tower’s water-lapped dungeons. 

Then, a sunbeam yellow tram scales the spine of Alfama, enveloped by a blur of Spanish blues.

Somewhere, Velazquez mixes paints to the sounds of royal chatter and flutters of lace. 

Elsewhere, aromas of sizzling saffron and briney seafood waft through the streets. 

And there, at Café Gijón, the ink of Rosales’ pens flows with the fervor of a nation in upheaval.

Mexico City, you magnetic spirit. 

Somewhere, a crackle of tension as Moctezuma regards the steely glare of a conquistador’s armor. 

Elsewhere, the sticky juice of warm mamey, the melodic calls of vendors, and the tinkle of a child’s laugh in the Zócalo. 

Then, a womb of cobalt blue births a surreal world of brooding, feminism, and intrigue.

New York, New York... 

Somewhere, Hughes weaves vibrant rhythms and quiet introspections into a literary song of resilience and beauty. 

Elsewhere, sounds of champagne splashes and rustling taffeta floats out of the Vanderbilt mansion. 

And across the Hudson, emerald mists part to reveal a dreamer stepping into the heart-pounding promise of possibility.

Oh, venerable Rome. 

Somewhere, gladiators and wild beasts clash. 

Elsewhere, the bright scent of citrus and the staccato shouts of the market crescendo with the rising sun. 

Then, in a world all its own, Michelangelo lays a final stroke as the bells of St. Peter’s toll.

Spirited Tokyo. 

Somewhere, the ink-stained hand of Hokusai pens the final details of a great, Prussian blue wave. 

Elsewhere, a buzz of neon lights and ambition as hurried suits, all sharp elbows and patent leather, weave through the city. 

Then, over a mosaic of scales and the heady scent of briney air, Tsukiji comes to life.

Ah, verdant Tuscany. 

Somewhere, Dante’s pen scratches parchment, unlocking golden kingdoms and blazing infernos. 

Elsewhere, heavy chianti grapes warmed by the sun stretch downward, borne up by velvet vines. 

Then, a thundering blur as the Palio di Siena circles round, round, and round. 

Somewhere, the devilish charm of Casanova looms in a haze of tobacco and wit. 

Elsewhere, masked figures dance to the kinetic ring of Vivaldi’s concertos. 

Then, in the labyrinthine canals, a secret society plots a daring rescue against the backdrop of the Inquisition.

Ah, elegant Vienna. 

Somewhere, Mozart's fingers dance across ivory, conjuring divine melodies. 

Elsewhere, the scent of bohemian spirit and roasting chestnuts hangs in the air as lovers huddle around the rich, chocolate velvet of Sacher-Torte. 

Then, over the lazy Wien river,  crowds crane to catch a glimpse of Napoleon at the Schönbrunn.