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At the corner of the Croft

is a Basket of Light

This is where songlines weave up 

through pavement cracks



This is where, not so long ago, 

breeze blew over poppies in wheat and cows in clover

on Stokes Farm



skateboarders wheel round pecked out buildings

and boots stamp burnt foil into the tarmac

of Stokes Croft


But at the corner of the Croft is Here

whitewashed crypt, bucolic respite


here are violins and mandolins

car boot Cassio keyboards

bread bin drums, guitars and

voices, banjos and banjos


where once sheep were grazing

music makes the place amazing


The ghost of Old Stoke

stalks the night, the darkened streets

forgotten meadows hidden underneath


Songlines snare his ears. He listens

sound, light

weaving up from underneath


weaving up from underneath


Under this whole city

a Basket of Light

◄ poem

Lido ►


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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Fri 13th May 2011 12:34

I think this is lovely, really lovely. It wraps around me, and goes through me: mood, imagery, music, inventive diction - theme. Why has no one else commented? I have no idea.

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