When the sun beats down
on this old paved ground,
the square comes to life;
the cathedral bell chimes
to keep the time,
while in the yard, young sinners sleep.
A man cries check
with a grin on his face -
crushed when a pawn takes his knight;
the emos blow smoke rings,
and the buskers all folk sing;
smoke and music flow through the air.
At the start of the year the performers roll in,
juggling and dancing, they end with a trick;
the children scream, the adults laugh.
A wailing guitar shouts its song,
the homeless man sings of days long gone;
misery and poverty not out of view
When the sun beats down
on the old paved ground,
the square is the centre of the world;
its beauty’s subtle and supple,
and varied for sure...
but surely not to be missed.
Author notes
i have had this one stuck in my head for months i drafted it about 5 times but i kept loosing the little bits of paper. it got to the point that every time i tried to read or write poetry i could only here the first two lines of this poem.
do i capture the spirit of the city ? if no then how could i?
Comments
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Mwah this is beautiful hun, and maybe it's just me but you can really tell it's Christchurch
It's lovely to see you writing again!!
Maria
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