Friday, 12 February 2016


At the end of the day when all is quiet and still
I sit and reflect on the day that has been.
roads that we have travelled,
vistas we have seen,
buildings we have passed -
who lives in a house like that?
What is it like to be part of this community - it it close knit,
or are many people lonely?

Who travels this road day after day?
...goes to that school,
...walks along this way.
... walks their dog
down that muddy track?

Who lives in this town,
less well known that the Palace
with which it shares a name,
but not a location.
Are they grumpy,
or full of elation?
Why is the main building in the town a jail?

Why do the rivers run green?
Is it algae, or a problem upstream?
The rivers back home
when turbulent are brown,
like a cup of coffee, stirred wildly!

Is that flood supposed to be there?
Or did it just one day randomly appear,
Why does this person think I am from Guinness,
and have some insider knowledge
to the provisions for this place,
because he thinks they are a disgrace!

Why is that bird on that roof?
I really need the truth,
not some fabulous tale,
an alcohol inspired concoction,
incredible in construction.

Who lives behind the pink door?
Who chose the paint for that?
The wisteria in flower
would look stunning as it drapes its blooms artistically
Looking casual bright and floral...

And now the day is done.
Time for bed
before the dawn
creeps secretly
from the east.