LIVING THE HIGH LIFE
Posted: Wed Oct 26, 2011 10:11 am
Living the High Life
There were fifteen hundred zombies and what appeared to be stone statues
chasing flocks of city pigeons down the main road of the town.
But it was not my problem so I sat clutching a cold beer
as the wrecking ball of deep depression slowly pounded down.
It was one of those grey mornings that sit on the edge of sunshine
where background noises seem redundant – they just seem to drift away.
In silence there is noise – hark and listen to birds singing,
and the breezes sibilant whisper as the leafy branches sway.
In the gardens there’s a willow with its leafy tendrils drifting
like a maidens hair unloosed from ties – Freed to the sun for kissing…….
An unexpected waterfall of green and verdant tresses
reminiscent of a Japanese print from which the bridge is missing.
Along the edge of parkland winds a fence of great dimension
and stateliness – reminder of a past more elegant time.
Made here at the old iron works with light and lacy filigree
quite charming and quite beautiful – with workmanship sublime.
And then spoiling the reverie come fifteen hundred zombies,
with ten stone statues chasing pigeons who had sat on their heads
defecating night and morning – as they do, mostly uncaring
but the statues had took umbrage – or that’s what the Zombies said.
Well if Zombies can walk our city streets each year across this country
with their blood caked garments flapping and their eerie horrid moans.
Why would you think it alarming to see statues thus re arming
for a bit of pigeon chasing. Are we in a weird free zone?
But it is not my problem; I’m just enjoying a cold beer
on the pub verandah – sitting and watching the world go by.
I’ve got my back against the wall and I feel no pain at all
I’m like a statue sitting pigeon – on a green and grassy high.
Maureen Clifford © 10/11
There were fifteen hundred zombies and what appeared to be stone statues
chasing flocks of city pigeons down the main road of the town.
But it was not my problem so I sat clutching a cold beer
as the wrecking ball of deep depression slowly pounded down.
It was one of those grey mornings that sit on the edge of sunshine
where background noises seem redundant – they just seem to drift away.
In silence there is noise – hark and listen to birds singing,
and the breezes sibilant whisper as the leafy branches sway.
In the gardens there’s a willow with its leafy tendrils drifting
like a maidens hair unloosed from ties – Freed to the sun for kissing…….
An unexpected waterfall of green and verdant tresses
reminiscent of a Japanese print from which the bridge is missing.
Along the edge of parkland winds a fence of great dimension
and stateliness – reminder of a past more elegant time.
Made here at the old iron works with light and lacy filigree
quite charming and quite beautiful – with workmanship sublime.
And then spoiling the reverie come fifteen hundred zombies,
with ten stone statues chasing pigeons who had sat on their heads
defecating night and morning – as they do, mostly uncaring
but the statues had took umbrage – or that’s what the Zombies said.
Well if Zombies can walk our city streets each year across this country
with their blood caked garments flapping and their eerie horrid moans.
Why would you think it alarming to see statues thus re arming
for a bit of pigeon chasing. Are we in a weird free zone?
But it is not my problem; I’m just enjoying a cold beer
on the pub verandah – sitting and watching the world go by.
I’ve got my back against the wall and I feel no pain at all
I’m like a statue sitting pigeon – on a green and grassy high.
Maureen Clifford © 10/11
