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phil-robertsPoems
Shiny bricks and skeins of yellow grass Barely perceptible colours Hung with liquid haze Dog **** and thunder Heavy close and thick Miasma Clings to sweat Running with drizzle Clings to damp Drowning the pores of the skin Making collars clinging sticky Rubbing and abrasive In view of the towering flats The greyly awaiting wait Standing at the bus stop Speaking quiet weather talk In the distantly English way So safely meaningless This polite evasion Ignores their damp dilemma Soon, as they sit inside the bus These bodies shall steam Like cattle in a byre Kids hang around the shops Emptying and kicking cans The younger ones Run and shout manically Their elders spit And swear casually All hoods and shadows Asking adults to buy them lager Because they can't get served at the "offie" Rain changes nothing here A bedroom guitar plays Weakly electric And the Turneresque sky Swallows the sound whole and flat Sophisticated trash Crying into a cloudy breast Shaded darkly round Full and swollen Grey and sodden The distant rumbling Tumbling closer to home                                     By Phil Roberts
0
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 10:54 AM UTC
HEAVY WEATHER ON THE FAMILY ESTATE
Shiny bricks and skeins of yellow grass Barely perceptible colours Hung with liquid haze Dog **** and thunder Heavy close and thick Miasma Clings to sweat Running with drizzle Clings to damp Drowning the pores of the skin Making collars clinging sticky Rubbing and abrasive In view of the towering flats The greyly awaiting wait Standing at the bus stop Speaking quiet weather talk In the distantly English way So safely meaningless This polite evasion Ignores their damp dilemma Soon, as they sit inside the bus These bodies shall steam Like cattle in a byre Kids hang around the shops Emptying and kicking cans The younger ones Run and shout manically Their elders spit And swear casually All hoods and shadows Asking adults to buy them lager Because they can't get served at the "offie" Rain changes nothing here A bedroom guitar plays Weakly electric And the Turneresque sky Swallows the sound whole and flat Sophisticated trash Crying into a cloudy breast Shaded darkly round Full and swollen Grey and sodden The distant rumbling Tumbling closer to home                                     By Phil Roberts
The title was a touch of irony....a comparison with Wodehouse family estates and my own beloved council estate.
phil-roberts
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phil-roberts
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May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 10:54 AM UTC
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