POEM – Dry Fountain Wishes – B Gourley (the !n(tro)verted yogi)


Sly town stretches along the sea,
backed by sacred mountains.
And amid shabby, city streets
sits a broken fountain.

And when the church bells peal at dusk,
the drunk, they sing out loud.
And all the robbers and the thieves
slip through the gathered crowds.

Pockets are picked and watches slipped
from wrists of the hapless.
On painted women, gooseflesh shows —
their tops low and backless.

The dreamers reach to seize a coin
to pitch in the fountain.
Few direct wishes or appeals
to that ancient mountain.

for more from this deep diver, click on over: https://berniegourley.com/

Published by grumpygorman

I am a Social Worker by day and an artist/writer by night. I use the written word in an attempt to make sense of the secret worlds and dysfunctional dynamics that lurk beneath the facades of our daily interactions. I am not sure how my writing styles are characterized, nor am I overly concerned about it. I am immensely enthusiastic about music and often connect better with songs than I do people. I also have an intense appreciation for quality wines and whiskies, frequently consuming them in excess. I like things that smell good and struggle to manage the symptoms of a life-long relationship with depression. So, why "grumpygorman"? Spend some time here and find out...

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