OLD TOWN PAST
Gone: the Market where cows sheep and pigs brought telling perceptions
The images, noises and smells of the farms to the town
The tweeded farmers with leathery limbs and faces
And gaiters of deepest sheen in a rich chestnut brown
Flaxen ropes, billhooks, pitchforks enough for a peasants' uprising
Spread along the High street and over the Corn Exchange square
While Newport Street furnished inns for all thirsts' reviving
And above all, the clock tower made skyline iconic and fair
Then was school run not protected, chauffeured, in cars
But raced, skipped or dawdled through field, street, market, rail station
Our little world teamed with action, unscreened - no bars
Of health and safety; adventure without filtration
In that world we seemed in different incarnation
Can we thus discern immortality's intimation
Categories:
unscreened, history,
Form: Rhyme
Four hang ups, no messages left.
Bereft of those moments near the phone,
a lonely heart could only hope it was you
who called while I was required to be away.
A pay phone call would disguise my ID.
Pleas of "Don't leave," beg from your invisible line.
Mine whispers and tugs "I still love you,"
through a muffled extended phone cord,
stored on a thrift store shelf, buried under
wonders alike, like an answering machine
screened of every piece of you it could seek,
antique now, shrouded in nineties' time,
grimy like the thought of being torn apart.
Compartmentalized moments spent
pent up inside on sunny days to not miss
kisses through a magic sound piece
cease to exist in real time, but two could dream.
Seemingly so far away, but in one chance
glance from beyond thrift store isles,
smiles meet again through unscreened numbers.
3-22-2020
Categories:
unscreened, devotion, mystery, perspective, teen
Form: Free verse