There was a time when all the TV folk came to Prague to do the writing community. It was really strange. |
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Between the LightsFrom time to time there are lightsCBS or NBC once again discovers Prague and the magic dies, if ever there was magic Maybe just the pooling of our blood Those of us who live and love and fight the trams when the eyes of the world are elsewhere, find it easier then This life between the lights, the glare turned soft and silver smoked Hemingway’s not here, it couldn’t be the Paris of the twenties Some godforsaken town will bear, decades from now, a similar sound-byte description and call itself the Prague of the nineties And television lights will blaze again across the startled faces of writers trying to make it work To pull down scattered circling thoughts, longing for the quiet times between the lights |
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. |