"towrope" poems
At night I walked in the winter months
By the banks of an old canal,
Where the barges lit their ghostly lamps
Like the wake of a funeral,
They would glide in those silent waters
With their silence like a shroud,
The horse at the end of the towrope
Passed me by, its head unbowed.
They sat so low in the water with
Their tons of pitch black coal,
The coal dust covered their livery
And of course, the paint was old,
A single steersman sat aloft
At the rear, and he looked ahead,
The black cut-out of a silhouette
Of a man that could be dead.
One night ahead of a hump-backed bridge
Where the towpath passed below,
The mist was a thick grey swirling mass
As the horse passed by me, slow,
I saw the glow of the ghostly lamp
And then as the barge appeared,
Just nosing out of the bank of fog
I thought that the bow looked weird.
For glistening under the ghostly lamp
And over the cabin door,
I saw a stream of something damp,
Was it mud, or blood, or gore?
I waited until the barge had passed
With the steersman, in my fright,
And I called out ****** ******
‘You should look to your bow tonight.’
And the steersman muttered ‘Carolyn’,
In a voice both muted, low,
His voice came whispering back to me,
‘She shouldn’t have used me so.’
I saw his cardboard cut-out turn
In the glow of the ghostly lamp,
But then the barge slipped into the mist
Along with its ****** stamp.
I didn’t know where it disappeared
On its voyage into the mist,
Along with its grisly cargo though
Its name was ‘Amethyst’,
But Carolyn lay aboard somewhere
In a pool of her blood as well,
As that barge would nose its way through mist
To enter the gates of hell.
David Lewis Paget
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 11:04 AM UTC
There was a year; filled with hope,
We felt if we could survive 19, we would cope,
If only we could pull it using a towrope.
The year was going fine,
Our dreams and aspirations were going in line,
All our thoughts were that the year was divine.
Then came a pandemic,
With the range of a pandemonium,
And sadly, it treated some as a pandemain.
Then we were begging the creator,
To protect us from the Corona detonator,
And he protected some from the coroner's disseminator.
And here we are, hoping 21 would be better,
And that every problems, we would conquer,
And that the year would be the best ever!
Dec 31, 2020
Dec 31, 2020 at 8:25 AM UTC