Friday, April 27

The Painter



This is for dVerse Poets Pub.

I put it up as a post last year under my "A poem for Thursday" slot and I thought it might resonate with some of the other poems this week.



The blue sky,
  
and a lazy gull,
                
and the shouting laughter
                   
 of young men playing football.

and high in the sky

the boys float and flutter

on warm thermals.

birch leaves whisper 

and turn themselves over

to show pure silver

-rising in price -

they say. 
.
Stelios gives me a fly past

on his way back from those triangular mountains.

and the wood pigeon

moans gently in the tall pine tree.

on the day

the painter died.

[The painter and the painting of course...Lucien Freud
and the boys are the screaming gang of swallows over the field].





Tuesday, April 24

The End of The Line




I'm reposting this poem for dVerse Open link night week 41.
It's one that I like reading myself...if that's not too arrogant!
Also it takes me to a place that I love to go...the seaside!

I'm really only just getting into linking to all of these wonderful sites.
So a big thankyou to dVerse for the opportunity to get my stuff...out there!



The End of the Line

Let’s go and live at the end of the line.
Where breakers fall over rolling stones.
We’ll board the train that we rode when young,
Watch how the steam mists our view of the sea
As it hisses and cools on the iron and the brass.
And the cry of the gulls as they dive, as they soar
Will welcome us back
Will welcome us back.

Let’s board the train that we rode long ago,
Where the end of the line will have water and sand.
We’ll be welcomed again by the crying of gulls
The smell of spun sugar and hot lardy chips.
There, will be space enough for our thoughts
And salt winds that blow away stale urban fog.
To welcome us back,
To welcome us back.

They say that the crust is beginning to crack.
That the cold winds of change are blowing our way.
Yet when I take the journey again to the end
Of the line, where the seagulls are soaring above
To the edge of the tide, to the line in the sand.
The memory of all of things, of all being well
Embraces me back
Embraces me back.