I have tired of lens-flare dawns, that world of
Fields and woodland, of East End yards and
City towers, refracted through the grimy window glass
Of trains that ride their too-familiar tracks.
I have tired of washed-out mornings, of anonymous lives
Behind the facades of once-proud, eye-sore
Tenements, the dream-drained and the dispossessed
Trapped in brick-balcony, washing-line lives.
I have tired of bruise-blue evenings, that violent
Promise in the wine-fuelled yak of my involuntary companions,
The nicotine-stained traders and Mojito-drowned secretaries
Hurtling through their coke-haven years.
I have tired of sleep-starved nights, the whine of
Sirens and the hiss of rubber on tarmac in the lamp-lit gloom,
The never-dark of bright, refrigerated garages and
Stink of fat-soaked, fast-food vans.
Instead, bring me again that sanctuary of damp, forest floors,
The chatter of sparrows and patter of rain,
Bring me the cleansing peace of the restless sea,
That beautiful tabula rasa of ocean's waves and tides.
YOU ARE READING
Fragments And Reflections
PoetryPoems looking at everything and anything not in my other collections. Here you'll find life and time, wild oceans and lonely coast paths, busy streets and empty hotel rooms, wild concerts and late night writing. All just fragments and reflections, l...
