Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Empty Parking Lots

40 watts
Dim, ample though
Plenty light
From that man-made Sun

In the darkness’ fading shield
Skylines bloom as they reveal
Rooftops, like castles, majestic and grand
Despite the broken shingling falling down

The first topping of frosted sheet
Winter’s voice is not as far as it once was—
Only days ago—and then the ice becomes confetti


Sometimes I sit in vacant parking lots
To watch as the empty lines fill in
Scribbling memos to my self
Verses to recall on some future calendar

…and in this suburban

I wonder…
Where have the poets gone?

It's yet another Tuesday, and to answer the last line of my poem, simply head on over to D'Verse, where Claudia is hosting Open Link Night

Really, If you haven't checked it out, OLN is definitely the place to be on Tuesday for a great mix of great poetry.  So I highly recommend that you head on over there, have a few pints of verse and while you're there submit one of your own, there's a crowd hoping you will.


  1. Im in that lot with you man - weekly daily -
    i dont know about you but here in my town theres not many writers to frantanise with - take me to Paris bro 1922 - Cummings Pound Hemingway Breton and on and on -

    all that said it makes us what we are i guess.

    Excellent write

    atmosphere and sincerity there in lies the power

  2. dVerse of course :)! Your poem has perfect imagery and tone.

  3. nice...i know some people have to wonder about me...parked on the side of the road or rapidly stopping in lots to jot down verse...lol...we had sleet, no snow ugh...nice, i like, and can relate...

  4. where have all the poets gone? what a great question! I have the answer - they all went to the Pub - ;)

    In all seriousness, I like the tender innocence and simplicity of your thoughts and ponderings here. They were endearing to me. Enjoyed the read, thanks.

  5. I like how this poem resists a pattern of equally-long stanzas, of capitalizations, and gives the one near-rhyme (shield/reveal) only to withhold rhyme otherwise. Feels like your form is intriguingly mirroring the ideas presented.

  6. haha...now all the poets are sitting over at the dVerse pub, totally drunk on poetry...smiles
    i much like the atmosphere you paint here...the empty parking lot reflecting the feeling of loneliness...like your urban voice here fred...and the ice becoming confetti..nice..

  7. "Sometimes I sit in vacant parking lots
    To watch as the empty lines fill in
    Scribbling memos to my self
    Verses to recall on some future calendar"

    Nice ambiguity and overlap in these lines. Empty lines filling could be words on narrator's memo pad or of the car park or both, lending mood to each other. Blank parking lots can look like calender spaces.

  8. I usually wonder, where has the sanity gone? Loved this one Fred--you build a very real picture of how the mind echoes its surroundings, and vice versa, how we think and what thinking puts in our world. The suburbs aren't the antechambers of hell, they're the real thing.

  9. Sitting in vacant parking lots has a lot going for it... Some very tight writing and fine imagery here. I liked it very much. // Peter.

  10. Fred...I have to ask, do you really? When seeking solace, I run with my notebook and my tunes...no one knows where I go...except the asphalt :) Seriously fell into this piece, for obvious reasons. Spoke to my poetic soul today....thank YOU!

  11. I know all about those parking lots...great line about the ice becoming confetti.

  12. I avoid those scary parking lots, but my brain is like one big parking lot, as there all my ideas sit until I get to my rhmying fit. Great piece for the dVerse way, I think it really speaks to one and all at their bay.

  13. love the space in this poem, the gentle flow, contemplative, questioning tone, all perhaps mirroring the deeper isolation...really like 'skylines bloom' & 'ice becomes confetti' - the poets haven't gone anywhere with you here Fred, perhaps just wandering the inside landscapes for awhile

  14. There was a period (a long one) when I'd sit on a bench facing a parking lot every day at lunch with pen and paper in hand, almost felt like I was losing my mind. You tell people you write poetry and they look at you like an alien. So we meet in a virtual pub. I'm real, I think. I think you are too.

  15. This is so, so good. The details helped me be there and the ending is perfect. Your work just gets better and better.