Backwaters

Rush me off my feet and put me,

on some mute stale wasteground.

Keep several yards away and pace out

a circle around my signpost figure.

When night draws on and the first

nascent flames flicker unstable in

the near instance,

I shall know truth as you cannot.

A shadow frozen, skeletal, an endless

retreat, smeared relic of monochrome,

ever distant in the oil-washed dawn.

I can’t wave goodbye, now statuary,

scratched ceramic, nothing more.

2015New Polemic

◄ Sound Travels

Asylum ►

Comments

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Martin Elder

Sun 3rd Jan 2016 14:44

There are some great lines her . particular the first two
'on some mute stale waste ground'

Lady Denyse

Sun 3rd Jan 2016 13:41

I felt a chill, and a great release of emotion. Beautifully written.

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Stu Buck

Sun 3rd Jan 2016 11:23

this is excellent. mysterious with a great use of language. 'nascent flames flicker' just rolls beautifully.

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