Friday, 6 January 2017

Poetry Friday 27

For audio click here
When I suggested I might stop Poetry Friday last week, I had literally hundreds tens okay, one person begging, imploring okay, asking me kindly to continue. So here goes. Poetry Friday number 27.

The first two poems have been gleaned from old stories.

The old man in the bus shelter
Rain on the glass -
each drop waiting to run,
to race down the pane,
collecting others,
growing in size and speed.
pulled towards the ground
until plop, the race is over.
The old man stares ahead,
ignoring the raindrop races
waiting for his bus to come.

Back and forth, forth and back,
he strides the same journey
the same steps.
I’ve tried
to capture that polar bear
in verse, on camera, in prose.
But I’ve never managed
to encapsulate
the pain,
the madness,
the shattered peace
written so clearly
in its eyes.

punctuated by street corners.
Commas and full stops
breaking up the journey.
So often it seems
they are placed in the wrong spot.

So, it looks like Poetry Friday is continuing. Tune in next week for more.

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