Raining In Darlington

Every new day brings fresh lethargy
Renewed deceit, increased malaise
So the tipping-point arrives
The call goes out
But there is nothing
And no one comes;
These 'friends' have failed

Every new year brings fresh poetry
A handful of old photographs
And the game of remembering names
Those pretty kids stand so still
Smiling on a beach somewhere
Where are they now
In these heavy adult years

Every new life brings fresh expectation
New-born hope, budding dreams
A player joins the game
Takes their part in the play
And we share our cheats and scripts
In some duty-bound illusion

But today
There is no heat in the air
The streets awash with tears
This Northern sky cries every day
For the future, for the past
For the sadness it has seen
It misses us, mourns our departure
And dresses itself in black
For our recurring nightly funeral

Where did we lose our way
When did we wish ourselves away
The darling sky begs for answers
They're sprayed on crumbling walls
They're compass-point scratches on school desks
And etched with hearts on lonely trees
They're everywhere
But we don't always see
They're everywhere
But we're just too busy
They're everywhere
And the rain magnifies them for me...


◄ An Actor Writes From His Dressing Room...

One of These Years ►


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Alison Mary Dunn

Sat 19th Dec 2009 12:12

This poem seems to resonate somewhere in me. I love the way you make reference to the skies mourning. It's kind of like when I travel back to Scotland. I suppose you're faced with looking at your life and where you've come to and the very place you grew up in seems to ask the question.
Ally x

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Wed 16th Dec 2009 15:27

Still catching up with you, mate.

This is bloomin' brilliant.

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