Balmy lapping traffic, rippling waves of cars,
Calmly green, seen from a sideline.
A lasting escape, a grave digging perception.
Drifting wind and breeze
A soul trading beacon
Comments in rattling passing phrases;
I feel full and empty
Together with the millions,
Mixed up in each others opinion
A masterful rendition
Escaped from lazy longing
A jaundiced shadow shimmers as short sunshine passes
Sliding shapes travel slowly, not allowed to continue
As the margin is broken
A spoken word just waited for.
Plenty to risk, on crisp brown burnt bereft leaves.
Cool ideas ripple out into cavernous holes
A whole different matter
To scatter intention and belief
A real tantrum
Tiny disturbance spiralling into misunderstanding.
A relief of tension
Spurting outwards, divulging, a strained procession
Of popular landmarks
Flashing with camera memories
Reflected in stammering monologues
A beauteous course of events
Torrents of tears gushing down avenues of fear
Brave again and stretched on markers
Busking for business
Singing in tunes for markets
Shovels clatter chambers that seem lost in history
Fine for a minute
Maybe: Maybe not
Just a best kept secret
Locked in a bunker
With a button
To press time
When the alarm shatters the silence.
Copyright Patrick Turner-Lee 12th August 2015