Poetry Blog by ray pool
Here stands Tim Quiney
porter at Defford
for over thirty years.
In the background, undisturbed
the station he knew so well,
in the Vale of Salty Tears.
Such men are copied
on heritage lines,
celebrating the way things used to be,
but on that day we see him
he went down with history
along with the Vale of Salty Tears.
He lost his job along with others...
Monday 24th September 2018 2:21 pm
"How're ye doin' honey?
I got here as soon as I could."
He's all strapped up,
tubes like spaghetti,
leg in a splint.
"I'm doin' jus' fine, i'm OK you know. "
bed curtains fastracking,
not long from the scene.
"How'd it happen, what's the news?"
Saturday 22nd September 2018 12:24 pm
When the men came a-knocking
the die was cast,
plans in tatters behind the door;
then mothers wrung their hands in grief
clinging to tragic hope and belief.
On their final visiting list
were sons of Derry
who had drank and talked
sealing their fate
without a trial.
When the man came a-knocking
to take them away
those dreamers of freedom
Wednesday 19th September 2018 10:24 pm
unlike holiday destinations
don't exist in brochures
don't make false promises,
offer palm trees, white beaches
bliss of a transient kind
that runs out back at the airport
with the phone turned off.
You may sense them on balmy breezes:
magic carpet rides,
in a look wher...
Monday 17th September 2018 9:32 pm
Heat is sighing in the glade
so we look for welcome shade,
remembering a pond
that scratched itself on the backs of rushes
concealing more than it could show.
We lean together on a fence
watch some ducklings
paddling on lily pads
like uncertain swimmers
precarious and disjointed.
Adults stay in the shallows
bobbing like coracles.
A man comes with b...
Tuesday 11th September 2018 10:41 pm
In the graveyard, a low sad sun
helps to reveal names on headstones,
green from time's dedication,
scrolled like a will and testament
or in bold font according to taste.
"Departed this life"- the date obscured.
Bees choose life in the blossom;
while the old church, defending its faith
with custom, lurches into safe oblivion.
I see a fresh headstone
Sunday 9th September 2018 7:46 pm
Friday 7th September 2018 10:26 pm
The saxophone is only as good as you feel,
a masterpiece of confusion brought to heel,
constantly seeking company.
"Speak with me
speak with me it says,
I have so much to tell."
With plaintive insistence it reaches out,
then, tired from sound
lays down in velvet ruffs.
Enough is enough the ventriloquist says,
then the dummy cries itself to sleep,
in a dre...
Tuesday 4th September 2018 10:56 pm