James
Frederick William Rowe
The melt waters of a March snow
Pouring from the scaffold
Gush a sprinkled
Stream of tricklings
In a staccato sheet
Plunging to the gathered puddles
Which resound with the concentric circles
Of the silence of their song
The music of the days old storm
Poet’s
Notes: Between
23rd and 24th on Lexington Avenue, there is currently one-storey
scaffolding around the George Washington hotel. One Monday, I was walking along
there when I witnessed the striking sight of melting ice producing the
eponymous "Urban Waterfall" dripping from the scaffold. The Wednesday
prior to this, a snowstorm had dumped a substantial amount of ice and sleet
onto the city, and this snow must've remained rather undisturbed until then, as
it was gushing a copious amount of water down a few dozen different trickles.
It really seemed like a melting waterfall, and I was captivated enough to write
a poem about my experience as soon as I returned home that night.
Though simple and direct, I am pleased with the
aesthetics of the poem that I believe capture as well as possible the
experience of seeing this sight. I believe I may have been the only one who
recognized in the waterfall the beauty that was present as I saw no one else
pay any mind to it whatsoever when I was walking. As I was the lone preserver
of the value of that moment, I felt especially inspired to write this poem and
I think I've done justice to it. In effect, I've recorded the "the music
of the days old storm".
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