My home town

Posted: April 1, 2012 in Poetry, urban poems

It is a stranger to me.
I have no recall of

sunlight curling through the streets
where sparrows have a dust-up in hedges.

No sound of cathedral bell slicing
apart cold blue mornings.

No granite-washed, moss-scented air
blowing in from the Glyders.

No days bunking off school with mates
to fish on the Elwy and explore down river.

No joining a murmuring queue waiting
for the coast-bound Crosville bus.

Before my eyes could weld all this
into my memory banks

we had moved on
and moved on
and moved on.

Nomads gathering places,
a litany of other people’s home towns.

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Comments
  1. brian miller says:

    nice…it took many year for my hometown to mean anything to me again…and by then it had changed…there are still a few places that carry the memories but most are scattered in the wind….

  2. Really like this.

    The images are good (sparrows line particularity – see it around my place as well) and I really dig the two line verses.

    Great closing lines as well.

  3. Susie says:

    Wonderfully simple and evocative of half memories, past times and a previous life – love it

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