Saturday, 22 September 2012

Bus notes 20

We're coming down the Priory Rd.
and beside us is the wall they built again.
The water's coursing still.
        It's the limits of
        a territory where
        we aren't for ever, past
        the bramble thuggery
        to the clipped green grass.
The Autumn light is harsh
and nothing seems to refract it;
its critical movement scans us as present.
        Then a few stops on
        two small girls watch
        the scenes recede, delighted.
The same light pours in
through their hungry pupils
and glisters beginnings, pictures bliss.
        Whatever kind of ghost I could become
        I remember myself a light starting
        once and faraway and waking up
        to the best games for making.



  1. A poem with as many movements of mood as the extended reflective moment. The illumination of the closing quatrain is startling. And very fine.

  2. Yes, the closing lines are wonderful.

  3. Thank you, both.

    This was a morning poem. I was making my way into work reluctantly until the two girls came as cherubim, malaika, and changed the light.

  4. "bramble thuggery" funny--I can see this, love it.