Tuesday, August 17, 2010

It was a slow day down by the river

It was a slow day,
down by the river.
Slow was her only pace.
The sun warmed her face
and the top of her head
as she read back old poems
and hoped the words might tempt her muse.

She listened to birds
and watched wind blow through trees
as mothers rushed ducklings downstream.
Dog walkers passed her
and insects encroached
and old people stood on the bridge
staring silently, down.

She'd never stood still here before,
never paused to watch everything else move instead,
the shaking of jade blades,
the swaying of nettles,
the kaleidoscope rippling beside her,
and the rustling of white paper pages
that urged her to write something wonderful,

and another attempt...

It was a slow day.
Down by the river he walked with his dog and his anger unleashed.
Two black beasts surged ahead.
His eyes didn't see the sun slowly setting.
His ears didn't hear the silence of dusk.
His skin didn't feel the stillness surround him.
Yet somehow they soothed him.
By the river's edge, he turned back.
One shadow rushed to his side,
the other dissolved in the dark.

1 comment:

steven.nash82 said...

Hey poetface,

this is really lovely. It's got a lot of the recurring themes of your work in. The pastoral (shown in your new blog backdrop) shown its soothing way to be a kind of antidote to the urban, but then we have those shadows that you're so adept at allowing to infiltrate your greenery.

That final line is, to use a phrase borrowed from a teenager on the train last week, "totally full of win"

One shadow rushed to his side,
the other dissolved in the dark.

That is a proper stop you in your tracks finisher.
Gorgeous mate