Other Colours, Other Clocks. After W.H Auden

Other Colours, Other Clocks
After W.H Auden

A summer funeral home in a pound shop Essex town.
The flowers are chemical, the doves bleached pigeons.
We are a family in conjured grief, gasping at heated facts,
tasting an electrical breeze. “There was bloody water down 
his sink and ripped up reminders surrounding his bin.”
Here is love’s finality, its knife, needle and rumour mill –
scarring the skin of what we believed possible within his life.
Now we are four children. Bewildered, glued together by photo 
albums and staring at each other’s shoes. Our memory fused 
by his sleight of hand street corner card trick con. He is gone,
and tonight alone, a deep ticking will come flicking into private
rooms, cutting our time into slices to be served on other clocks. 
   Come Christmas, we’ll know this for sure. 
   How we followed his star. Our feet red raw.

◄ Shame: After Evelyn ‘Champagne’ King

We Will Be Men ►


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Stephen Atkinson

Wed 13th Jul 2022 22:19

Some great lines in a superbly written piece 🌈

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Stephen Gospage

Wed 13th Jul 2022 17:27

Whatever the form, Ralph, every line is superb. 'Pound shop Essex town' - I know it well.

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Ralph Dartford

Wed 13th Jul 2022 16:13

Thanks Holden.

It looks odd on my phone though. On my laptop it looks as it should. It’s supposed to be a ‘broken sonnet’, but looks a bit like ‘free verse’ on my phone.

Holden Moncrieff

Wed 13th Jul 2022 15:32

A really powerful poem, Ralph, each line is infused with both profundity and originality! 🌷

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