Poetry

by david ratcliffe

SUMMIT TUNNEL

The homeboy patrolled the platform
hauling a case full of troubles;
a youth, unprepared, undercooked, fidgety,
4 minutes from departure.

He could see his half-life below,
wished to wallow in its familiar frown,
allow his timidity licence to return
to the arms of invisibility.

The village continued its sophistry;
July sunrise presented limestone ripples,
clouds created kaleidoscopic greens,
the old mill beseeched him, remain
within its simplicity,
content to drink life from cupped hands.

A cursory glance to the exit;
would he prove them right?
'would he eckerslike',
yet fearing the train's arrival
he hoped it would run out of steam,
hiss to a stop, forever
lost in the tunnel a mile
from his inward mitherings.

Through branches of dappled summer, 
he looked down at the bus stop
from where his ride to that point had
terminated at the limits of imagination, 
while he waited for adventure
far beyond ambition...

 

Infinite Ignition © 2015 All Rights Reserved

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Thank you Blue Nib for providing a platform for poets around the world to get their poetry out there. I am extremely delighted to have made the long list, and now to be among the talented shortlisted poets named here. I am grateful to those who voted for 'He Crawled' thank you all!

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In loving memory of my 1st born child…

My son - John Ratcliffe
10 / 08 / 1980  -  04 / 07 / 2018

HE CRAWLED

He crawled before walking,
ran before flying,
collected punctures and marks,
opened a gateway to fantasy
leaving carnage on the runway.

Turbulent episodes ensued;
a ridge of low pressure descended
until he crashed and burned
crawling childlike from the wreckage.

This man who's tattooed forearm reads
’Only God can judge me'
the same who'd prayed for the man in the next bed
is judged by cold case detectives
who pour over his rap sheet
fold arms and bleet,
pointing to behaviour
ignoring symptoms or cause.

Three critic weeks in the hands of
benevolence in baby blue.
a metal tree bearing vital fruit,
a legitimate cocktail flowing through vines
fuse into the stillness of his being.

Pink Floyd now whispers into his ear
as we his parents
each with a role to play
wait blameless on the bright side.