*Note:*
**"Pedestrin" is a three-syllable shortened variant of 'pedestrian',
as "des'late" is a shortened form of 'desolate'.**

The difference is that pedestrin is quite easily pronounced by sight and looks awkward apostrophized (pedestri'n) while 'deslate" could be confused for de-slate, des "late", or others: so "des'late" is the clearest way to notate it, in my view.

Stay tuned for a future post *(tomorrow?)* where I include the audio recitation of this poem and do some musing on poetry's relation to music, especially where it concerns rhythmic stringing together of words and brainstorming ways to resolve the problem of a general lack of rhythmic notation in writing poetry: particularly where the author has a very specific intended rhythm near-impossible to intuit due to its syncopated or somewhat stilted nature.

Excited? I am! Enjoy my run on sentnece? Hope so! I'm betting a few people have some great insights into the topic. But for now, I must retire. Have a great night!

Dan

Thank you for being here for me, so I can be here for you.
Enjoy your day and stay creative!
Botty loves you. <3

Superb lines and beautiful photos my friend !

Looking forward to your audio on this poem.  I enjoy when you go beyond the written word - photos, audio, edits

Dear @d-pend sir!
Wisely dissolution of the word Pedestrin from your poetry's second last line.Without waiting for essentially the coming time, we should be conscious of our goal and always strive to move forward. No one can hide  from time. From your fourth stanza.
Enchanting photography of autumn season. Sunlight over the trees and houses are giving peace to the mind.

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Dan,
It's refreshing to see you Embrace rhyme. I really enjoyed this poem. I haven't read a lot of your poems recently, so it was a pleasant surprise to come upon this one. I do love your free verse, and it's not that I prefer this, but I do love to see you stretch your wings, and I do believe you have a talent for rhyme. 😎

I enjoyed reading this @d-pend,

I'm pretty sure you enjoyed writing it.

> A ruthless spectre, potter's glen
arising with soft westward wind.
Sad silhouette of maker's bliss
to tame me with unfurling kiss.

Far off comment:

Cranny could never fit into the rhythm and rhyme of this poem at all. I wonder how nook and cranny got matched up anyhow.

Just one question...

Are there actually any pedestrians in that neighborhood other than you?

Greetings, Daniel! His beautiful poem painted in me the vision that we are solitary walkers of life, observers, more than protagonists of this breath of eternity that is life. And, suddenly, I saw myself writing these lines that I share, as an empathic commentary, sprinkled with poetry.

The passage of time
opens and closes scars in the soul.
Perhaps, because we take too many turns
and a thousand times we fall into the same traps,
in the same holes and turn common corners
without seeing each other.
We are spring that escapes running along the sidewalks,
looking for shade in accompanying trees.
The spirit fears to meet
free from that which continually grows.
Among confused forms, he wanders
sleepwalking or conscious,
or stunned by undulating plasma pathways,
caressed by presence without contours
surrounded by the lights that illuminate the corners.
This enchantment of the light
and the sounds that glimpse confident in the random maps.
That serene astonishment by nothingness,
gazing into the eternal labyrinth.
Beloved for eternity,
we don't even look at each other,
entrenched in comfort,
we reduce ourselves be islands in fear of love
and sorrow.

Greetings, @d-pend.
I'm guessing these images are from Texas, where you lived before you went to NC and where you have returned after that interim.

I was commenting to @zeleiracordero how these images and some of the lines reminded me of my visits to my hometown, after having left for many years, after so many things have changed and had been forgotten, especially people and their stories.

I sense nostalgia (from childhood, maybe adolescence) highlighted by a first love, maybe. For me those are the most precious memories of our hometowns. The fleeting moments of pedestrian nooks that became temple, refuge, battlefields even. Some of those places remained unchanged, others changed so much we can’t even remember what they looked like.

One of my greatest regrets is not having taken pictures of places that meant a lot me as I was growing up and that were transformed in time, mostly for worse, and it hurts me not to be able to reconstruct most of the memories.

So, in this poem I see this sort of liberating love experience, a childish one, but with the intensity and conflict of a Romeo and Juliet affair. One of the two is uprooted (tamed?)

At this point I was also thinking about the imposing figures of the trees in the picture. Majestically victorious. How many obstacles did they fight to get that high? How satisfactorily it must feel to see their surroundings from above, to provide different kinds of nooks for those looking for shelter! How much of that sap flows through us?
  
This particular stanza gave me the chills

> O fleeting moments, closer fades
of fate with timelessness in glades.               
Nothing said and nothing gained
in figures lost of times entrained

I actually had a glade in the middle of a *selvatic* lot in front of my house. I would hide with my friends, play cowboys and Indians or explorers. As time past our forest became a square and my friends became perfect strangers.
The love of my childhood will always have a special place in my mind and will always infuse those changed spaces of an aura of purity and transcendence beyond the mundane wars and truces, beyond the transgressions and disloyalties. No stains remain. 

> In des'late trails of gridbuilt looks
our love is laved—pedestrin nooks

@d-pend,

Alright Daniel, this is getting out of hand ... GO BACK to writing Free Verse. You're stealing my thunder. No one ever listens to me about writing Verse ... except the one bloody guy who can write it flawlessly. 

Shit.

Dan, this poem is masterfully crafted. It flows like honey. 

The theme is poignant ... the most powerful emotion one can employ, and the mechanics are impeccable. Normally, I don't care for enjambment (because I think it generally creates weak line transitions) and yet, you pulled off all instances flawlessly. 

Writing in Verse controls the *"pause"* and I really noticed it in this poem. And, as I've written repeatedly, **The Power of Prosody is in the Pause.**

What amazes me, and I commented on this once before, is that you've managed to merge Verse with that unique "d-pend style." Now you're getting all the dopamine that comes from the patterns of Verse ... while still creating that *"mystique"* for which you are famous (infamous). :-) You're having your cake and eating it too.

There's no excuse now ... whales should be upvoting this stuff. 

BTW, I think you'll like this one: 

https://steemit.com/funny/@quillfire/2bqbg2-delerium-merlot-quill-s-delerious-delights

*Quill*