Seeing you there, alone,
pebbles scattering
on the beach. They don’t care;
flying discretely
through the air.
Your hair shatters
in wilder shards;
chasing the wind – who knows where?
But life is yours;
insisting on wholeness,
against the maelstrom, and despair;
you hold the scene.
© 2011 Matthew Rhodes
The slow scrumpling of the rain:
I see lights, like statues in the dark,
still against the restless night.
Slowly they come;
rolling softly down the road,
dousing lamps as they pause.
Forming lines;
waiting.
Waiting.
A train passes.
The rain rains.
Strange rows, in silence.
Waiting.
And then the bus,
alone and purposed,
arriving with a sigh;
long, low hiss of success,
and call to arms.
Boys emerge, and men;
tired of travel,
lost and cold.
And welcomed in
to guardian angel arms,
doors open and close;
lights and engines rise, now,
and disperse.
© 2011 Matthew Rhodes
An unexpected response to this week’s prompt (43) from wewritepoems that came to me while waiting to collect my son returning from the airport after a trip with the school choir to sing in Rome.
poetry diary 