Post
Berlin-Mitte
A #poetry thread
—
i.
Concrete, cars, cackles in bars,
islands of trees in rivers of steel.
Great thoroughfares: asphalt scars
across the city's heart that never heals.
High-rise towers, anonymous blocks
with tiny little flats – an egg-carton life.
Brutalist cement made of crushed rocks
housing young singles or an old ex-wife.
🧵👇🏼
#poem #poemaday #berlin #cityscape #photography #urbanphotography
ii.
Haze, a maze, the occasional blaze
of blue flashing lights in a streaking blur.
Unfazed by faded greys of hurried pathways,
knotted gaggles of people in nightclubs interred.
Great garden, green lung, by traffic hamstrung,
wraps around an angel perched, eyes that search
from atop its column, Iron Cross and laurel slung
in a gilded fist like Prussia fan merch.
🧵👇🏼
iii.
Punks passing drunks, gardens of junk,
graffiti scrawled on walls gritty with grime,
little to drag this writer’s soul out of its funk
or much to say that this place is truly mine.
Above it all, a cooing dove sets its gaze
on a man scattering crumbs to the tarmac below.
The city inhales, exhales its foggy malaise —
a restless grid with mounting undertow.
🧵👇🏼
iv.
Up high in the sky, behind mirrored glass
in a tower with the power to make airwaves,
I see with clarity the stark contrast
between curling clouds and a wasteland paved,
and the puffs of white and orange in the pallid winter sky
say nothing to Berlin’s brittle bustle and tussle:
they drift and shift in their own restless glide,
silent sinews flexing the city’s muscle.
✋🏼🧵
