Smiling at strangers, or saying hello
passing the time, on my walks down the street
with mixed responses, from those you don’t know
some stare at their phones or else at their feet
Joggers those nodders, take you in their stride
focussed on fitness, or some sort of race
barely acknowledge that you moved aside
they'll choose to refuse a look at your face
Pushy young parents, oh so self-aware
they hurry by without hesitation
gripping their pushchairs, as though they don’t care
now I worry for new generations
But those with their mutts, serial walkers
No ifs or buts, they're serious talkers.
People started running,
for buses, taxis, trains,
with umbrellas no defence,
against the wind and rain,
a drowned rat cycled past,
then disappeared down a lane,
when lightening flashed, I dashed,
hoping to dry out again.
I shot past the pub’s “welcome” sign,
“No Prams or Pushchairs Inside”,
then scrutinised the menu,
for something not micro’d or fried,
with my paper, pint, pasty, and peas,
I sat by the warm fireside,
waiting for the storm to pass,
and brighter weather outside.
Pecking quick, a parting kiss
Pumping legs, a train to miss
Lovers waving, strangers pass
Tears and hugs a whistle blast
Scanning papers on news stands
Pats on backs while shaking hands
Averted eyes and hurried walk
Can’t stop, won’t wait, no time to talk
Pushchairs, wheelchairs, screaming kids
Cardboard coffee cups with lids
Departure times on TV screens
Red light, amber, go is green
Somewhere, nowhere, never speak
Laughing, crying, faces bleak
Turned up collars, downcast heads
Business suits and tardy threads
Briefcase, suitcase, traveling bag
Folded papers ,glossy Mags
Hustle, bustle, teeming by
Oblivious to earth and sky
Don’t stop don’t look and don’t ask why
Ticket punched and journey paid
Click the stopwatch
Now you’re dead
Inch by inch and frame by frame
Slides spin and flip in light and dark,
Pass before the moist-eyed filter,
Snapshot memories creeping by.
In wordless modes I mouth his name
And visualise pushchairs in the park,
Feel the world tilt out of kilter
As tears skew each mourning eye.
An hour times five or fifty years,
It matters not the length or span
Endured being of my creation,
Love of woman or wife.
The seconds, endless souvenirs,
A sweet slow motion caravan
Through desert dreams with affirmation:
Love is love and life is life.
So much I love, so much I miss
The joy of he who would be mine
If not for random happenstance,
The fate that I bemoan.
Yet I have learned to live with this,
My grief with fellow stars align
And for these others' circumstance
I do not cry alone...
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.