Hearing the voice of my poet friend as I read his work.


Paul

Martia at Beef Stew,
the known beat of verse,
a rhythm I know, words
slanging off the page
Once more among us,
often and much missed,
his writing deeper, ringing
with time away
The tone of Cairo calling
Muslims to prayer rugs,
the Chalk Desert in his gaze,
the squint of purpled afternoons
A city rat at heart, between cities,
eyes still glowing,
off to settle affairs
before settling in or down
Then back again,
to touch this ancient city

Poetry Collection: The Smell of Tweed and Tobacco
This poem is included in
Jim Freeman’s
poetry collection

THE SMELL OF TWEED
AND TOBACCO

available here in print
or as an e-Book
in your favorite formats.