Unfortunately, I was feeling slightly uninspired when it came to writing today’s poems, so here are two more old poems from 2010 instead.
The first poem here – “The City” – was the first poem in an unpublished collection of narrative poems I wrote in 2010 called “Switchblade Shadows”. Whilst most of this collection had a rather nonsensical and badly-written murder mystery plot, I’m still quite proud of the atmospheric opening poem.
The second poem – “Last Train” – was an attempt at writing a descriptive poem I made in 2010 that was based on a train journey from Shrewsbury to Aberystwyth that I took one evening in late 2009s. The original poem didn’t really have a proper title, so I thought that I’d call it “Last Train” (after this song by Ghost Dance).
This is also the last day of poetry week and normal articles will resume tomorrow. All in all, I quite enjoyed poetry week and – despite not feeling as inspired as I hoped I would be, it was still a lot of fun. So, I may well end up posting more poetry on here at some point in the future. I don’t know.
Anyway, enjoy today’s poems 🙂
“The City” By C. A. Brown
Bird’s eye visions from a precarious window
blended into an impressionist wash
by raindrops, running like trains.
Streetlights merge into darkness,
highlights curl and distort.
Somewhere, a bordello closes,
women in overcoats leave clutching
film canister aerosols of mace.
Men in leather jackets look on,
their cigarette ends glowing like
a swarm of fireflies.
On the roofs and spires, crows
gather like the souls of the dead.
A few chimneys breathe out
dragon death rattles of smoke
as church bells clang lifelessly.
A man almost steps into the road,
his trainers almost shredded by
jet-black blurs of type treads.
Neon signs drown out their painted
neighbours with cries of
“Absinthe “XXX”, “Open ‘Til 4”.
Policemen in regimental uniforms bark
orders, the refrain to a drunken
song forgotten by morning.
Rats dodge crystal sculptures of
broken glass in the gutter.
A woman in a tattered hoody
breathes her last breath.
Miles away, inside a dark drawer,
a switchblade clicks open.
“Last Train” By C. A.Brown
A town on a hill,
sparkling like Christmas
card pictures, like
1990s videogame gemstones
Held aloft in a rich
dark cupola of trees,
a needle forest
on a leaf-strewn sea.
All these thoughts
come to me
in the split-second
I look out of the window.
Anyway, I hope that this was interesting 🙂