Dockyard Discharged of duty, the cranes are extinct sauropods, fossilising as they stand. Smudges of smoke and a clattering of rain on corrugated iron fill the night. Caulkers and other men of toil, circumscribed by whistle and clock, are gone, having filed by the oil-black water a final time, the women's failed crane bags and grimoires flung into the inky depths. The tone is commensurate with the hour, drifting, reconciled, on a cat's-paw breeze, as the pub empties on the moated hill, wistful eyes riding the inlet down to the padlocked gates, before turning and blurring against the torrent, —hard and warm and cauterising. ©AJM —from my book Heading North (2015)
Beautiful, poignant, evocative. 🙂
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Thank you x3 🙂
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I adore the contrasts in this poem! Your poems always create such vivid imagery and setting. I also finally (and sadly) finished reading Heading North. GOLLY GOSH. It’s great. And I daren’t say any more in case my envy of your talents becomes far too obvious. Hehe. I’m so happy at how well it seems to have been received (leaving my Amazon review as promised!) and deservedly so!
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Thank you very much, Anna. I’ve just seen your great review-I appreciate it. Glad you enjoyed the book.
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