Cuckoo

 

 
They jump from bridges round here,
Get blamed for delaying the traffic,
Tie blooms to the railings and leave them to wither,
to remind us we die if we need to remember.
 
Three days for the flowers to wilt
One less in the swelt of the summer
Deadheads bow brown in a semblance of grief
For the blood and bone bedlam that played out beneath.
 
They name bars after illness round here
Like it's funny how many go Cuckoo
In a town full of locals that self-medicate
The CPN made her referral too late;
 
In estate agents' bluster it isn't made clear,
They jump from bridges round here.
 

◄ Deathbed Regrets

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Comments

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Neil Fawcett

Fri 18th Oct 2013 22:51

Love it. It puts me in mind of the undertow that's the drag of modern life. On the surface all is well, neatly packaged, swell. But beneath there is the damage, to us all, it's just that some pull the quick release.

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Laura Taylor

Tue 17th Sep 2013 14:38

Great poem, tying the idea of the 'problem' cuckoo to the problems they 'cause'.

Agree with Greg, rhythm is excellent, and I really like the idea behind it.

These lines are really stand-out:

Tie blooms to the railings and leave them to wither,
to remind us we die if we need to remember.

Three days for the flowers to wilt
One less in the swelt of the summer
Deadheads bow brown in a semblance of grief
For the blood and bone bedlam that played out beneath.


Brilliant.

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Andy N

Tue 17th Sep 2013 12:55

that last line really hit me, John.

excellent stuff

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jane wilcock

Mon 16th Sep 2013 20:29

I feel sorry for shrine trees, stood years upon years with ribbons and photos of grief even when the spring has turned again.

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Greg Freeman

Mon 16th Sep 2013 09:52

Great rhythm to this, John, and well-chosen words: "wither", "wilt", "estate agents' bluster". Maybe you could consider adding another stanza, to give it even more impact?

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Dave Bradley

Sun 15th Sep 2013 21:50

I have a feeling this one will stick in the memory

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Isobel

Sun 15th Sep 2013 21:00

Very moving John - in a sad mournful way. I like the way you juxtapose the tragedy with the inconvenience of it all. I can remember suicides on the underground when I used to commute and how all that tragedy condensed itself into frustration at being trapped or late for work, or late getting home.

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