Voices from the Park
Each slate green dayChapel fresh
Haddock eyes wide with longing
The tide washes me in
Like bleached flotsam
Its single ebb
A turgid wave whose salty embrace
Erases life's disappointments.
Each day the call
Reaches me
Even when the sky is dull
And solemn sleet-filled rain
Keeps gulls silent
And men in boats
Forsake the greedy ocean's swell
Cursing from cobbled cottages.
Piercing as truth
Sleep robbing
The park's dark whisper beckons
And my mind's eye drifts
Rushing onwards
Through opened gates
To the municipal water,
Over regulated grass.
No dreams for me
Of dainty parks
With gently lapping crimson waves
Sparkling with gaudy golds
Its garish colours
Luscious as peaches
Over exciting the senses
Like mermaids in Swansea Bay.
The greatest skill
Is to craft
With a harsh muted palette
Borders whose safe edges
Are straight as a chapel pew
As unyielding as a Sabbath sermon.
I'm called to curb
Fallen leaves
Cheery chattering matrons
And uninvited vagrants
Whose ragged untidiness
Invites devilment in mocking urchins.
