Victoria Terrace
(An Addingham Poem)
With the strength of
gentleness, sparrows make love
upon the windowsill,
frigid glass pane pulsates
within the pageant of nature,
numerous battle scared plumage
float wanting, towards earthly cracks
that conceals another world, where
rain and sleet beat down a
forest of subversive weeds,
if only to perjure
hope and fortitude.
The wind! Screams imperfections,
orchestrates the misery of the
telegraph wire, summons
the hardy, those across the
sawmill dam, there where the
village sons live on, as faceless
images upon the park epitaph.
The moon abandons the paperboy
hides behind a turbulent haze,
the greyness segregating
the dawn from the night,
as a hundred kettles sing
behind dimly lit backyard windows,
and a hundred harmonies
perfume, the bowel of the tippler.
Row upon row of decrepit
doorsteps host resident jugs, those
that waits in anticipation of the ladle,
whose wholesome contents still
encompass the warmth of the beast.
Through the mist, a stony siren
executes the industrial anthem,
a musical excursion into pain
and manipulation, a weaving shed
that creates a spinneret
of dreams, a threshold to one’s hopes.
“Yet! Given nothing more, than a
wry sense of insecurity.”
© Harry J Horsman 1999
Copyright © Harry Horsman | Year Posted 2010
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