You can click on this link and listen to The Moldau as you read my poem, Nine Postcards from Prague today:
Nine Post Cards From Prague
Sapphire light mingles with deep red violet
Rolled out behind the spiky black twin spires
Like a futuristic vision.
My neck aches from bending backwards
My soul leaps forward to embrace them.
Evening comes to Prague
Like a dark, warm wool blanket
That wraps a weary traveler’s body
At the end of a long journey.
Tonight, walking along hard stone paths
The dark Moldau sang to me.
Her voice lifted me up from the street
Like a duet of a finely tuned violin
And a velvet throated cello
As we crossed the wide bridge
Keeping inside the dark shadows.
I watched a long gray pigeon
Quietly fly through the last ray of light
Coming home for rest
We continued searching
For the way back
To where the night begins.
Here in Prague.
Store windows dazzle
With ample treasures of amber,
Garnets and Bohemian glass.
They bulge with heavy burdens of color
And ask me to return again tomorrow.
Come. Walk inside of me.
Touch. Hold. Buy.
I ask “what is the price?”
How will I carry the large glass flowers home?
How will they look when I place them
In a thick orange vase
From West Virginia?
A small ink drawing hangs
On the wall in room 428.
This familiar artist’s style
Catches my eye again.
His drawings hang
In my Pennsylvania home.
Last year, in Prague
The artist stood alone
Displaying his drawings
On Sunday morning.
A proud businessman.
I bought several.
The price was too low.
I sit alone
On the edge of the spiral tide
In the center of this night
My thoughts turn like a labyrinth
Made of ocean waves.
Soon you will embrace me
And we will walk away together.
One by one
He looked at each passport
He wears two stars on each shoulder
An Eight-pointed star on his chest
A gun on his right hip.
Foolish students giggle in the back of the bus
One asks if he speaks English
He asks if they speak Czech
All laugh at his joke
He is thin and young
And departs with an English “Good Bye.”
We occupied seven minutes of his day.
It rains now
as we get our final glimpse of Prague
the translucent gray sky
softens the deep golden fields to mauve.
distant trees turn from yellow-green
to blue wine mist.
Prostitutes take their places along the
road to Prague
they kneel down on the grass
wave at the tourists
arrange their few possessions.
The late summer rains
swept away all our dreams.
Published in the book, “Concerti: Psalms for the Pilgrimage,” by Lynda McKinney Lambert. Kota Press, 2002.Published in “Kudzu Literary Review,” 2003.
You can listen to one of my favorite compositions by the Czech composer Bedrich Smetana by clicking on this link.
Photo by Lynda McKinney Lambert – Changing of the guard at the Palace in Prague.
Essay and photo, Copyright 2015. Lynda McKinney Lambert. All rights reserved.
Published on SCANdalous- Reflections Blog, August 8, 2015.