Made of smokestacks and trusses,
interlocking and rectilinear;
Naves are wandering the new brick streets,
humbled by shelter, by pressure.
Solidarity in civic identity,
iron tasted on the tongue;
Dwarfed by an engineered order,
humbled by progress, by claustrophobia.
Such industry held up on hills,
dormitories are bent and sooty brown;
Anonymous postures pause conversations,
humbled by pride, by fatigue.
Shared with W3 #189 – picture prompt
Shaun, I think you’ve captured the gritty nature of the 1900 industrial revolution!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Val 🙏
Those muddy streets, the beginning of the journey of consumerism!
LikeLike
The life wasn’t the most pleasant at that time. Thoughtful poem!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Elizabeth 🙏
LikeLiked by 1 person
“Solidarity in civic identity” I think this line captures what I was feeling about this image.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you 🙏
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’re welcome.
LikeLike
Pittsburgh Steel!
An impressive write, Shaun.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Nancy 🙏
LikeLiked by 1 person
Powerful writing, Shaun!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Nolcha 🙏
LikeLiked by 1 person
I think that was the intention in the old steel towns, to break the people’s spirit so they were easier to enslave. Nicely done.
LikeLiked by 1 person
This brings the movie ‘Brazil’ to mind.
LikeLike
Shaun, “iron tasted on the tongue” is really good—I can almost feel that heaviness settle in my mouth.
~David
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks David 🙏
LikeLiked by 1 person
🤗
LikeLike
Shaun — reading this again, I really like how this holds pride and unease at the same time. The same buildings feel like protection and pressure — that quiet tension is what makes it hit for me.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I like that idea of protection and pressure. Thanks David 🙏
LikeLiked by 1 person