GREY
GREY
There were images the grey man could not see
Did not want to see in all probability
Walking by the glass doors and windows of modern stores
No warmth of being within their cold crisp alloy frames
Where flickering shadows had been cast by troubled lamps
High above the manikins with their blank eyes and no names
He saw no reflection of his life therein
The bubble of his own life just waiting for a pin
Cold and grey though he was the irony escaped again
Smart suits warming lifeless bodies in a warm store
Would he lean against another door later to soak up
Any escaping heat - then off, the shadows to explore
Seek cardboard to burrow below before the night frosts
Dark grey, pale black, damp mists swallowing each snore
Awake he escaped from the clinging damp pulp in clumsy steps
Kicking bottles in the raw alleyway between sagging walls
Knowing the time was now to find the bakers back door open
Escaping heat and mishapen scraps a welcome siren call
Creaking boots with tied on soles protesting at patchy puddles
His progess stealthy to be sure red rags didn't catch sight
Her own bed safe below the tarpaulin of a rusty skip
Soon pockets filled with crusty burnt rolls before flight
He ventured to the nearby park to share with ducks and pigeons
Ready for him to return with the sun as ever from the night
He snapped off the ice clinging to the water fountain
Thawed it in his mouth wondering why he never found gin
Gin or vodka at a pinch would have balanced the blank taste
The last of the rolls was gone, his pockets turned back in
Pigeons darting between mallards to snatch the final crumbs
The sight warming his grey lips, grey eyes, grey skin
The bench was still damp when he stretched out on it
To watch the faint sun glinting through low cumulus
Forty winks he thought before the morning joggers came by
Lunch time saw a brighter spell, a young couple off the bus
Throwing crumbs of pie crust and bread to the ever needy
Birds that hunted around the grey man who woke with a cuss
The couple passed by scarcely noticing his form move
Intent upon their love of life and the bright colours they wore
The pigeons moved on too, following hopefully behind them
Leaving grey man to potter behind the ducks to the the shore
Of the pond where he stooped to splash green water on his face
Some lingering on his once proud grey gaberdine coat once more
And as he straightened up and looked down into the ripples
He saw no reflection of his life therein
The bubble of his own life just waiting for a pin
(c)Rhumour
June 19th 2009
There were images the grey man could not see
Did not want to see in all probability
Walking by the glass doors and windows of modern stores
No warmth of being within their cold crisp alloy frames
Where flickering shadows had been cast by troubled lamps
High above the manikins with their blank eyes and no names
He saw no reflection of his life therein
The bubble of his own life just waiting for a pin
Cold and grey though he was the irony escaped again
Smart suits warming lifeless bodies in a warm store
Would he lean against another door later to soak up
Any escaping heat - then off, the shadows to explore
Seek cardboard to burrow below before the night frosts
Dark grey, pale black, damp mists swallowing each snore
Awake he escaped from the clinging damp pulp in clumsy steps
Kicking bottles in the raw alleyway between sagging walls
Knowing the time was now to find the bakers back door open
Escaping heat and mishapen scraps a welcome siren call
Creaking boots with tied on soles protesting at patchy puddles
His progess stealthy to be sure red rags didn't catch sight
Her own bed safe below the tarpaulin of a rusty skip
Soon pockets filled with crusty burnt rolls before flight
He ventured to the nearby park to share with ducks and pigeons
Ready for him to return with the sun as ever from the night
He snapped off the ice clinging to the water fountain
Thawed it in his mouth wondering why he never found gin
Gin or vodka at a pinch would have balanced the blank taste
The last of the rolls was gone, his pockets turned back in
Pigeons darting between mallards to snatch the final crumbs
The sight warming his grey lips, grey eyes, grey skin
The bench was still damp when he stretched out on it
To watch the faint sun glinting through low cumulus
Forty winks he thought before the morning joggers came by
Lunch time saw a brighter spell, a young couple off the bus
Throwing crumbs of pie crust and bread to the ever needy
Birds that hunted around the grey man who woke with a cuss
The couple passed by scarcely noticing his form move
Intent upon their love of life and the bright colours they wore
The pigeons moved on too, following hopefully behind them
Leaving grey man to potter behind the ducks to the the shore
Of the pond where he stooped to splash green water on his face
Some lingering on his once proud grey gaberdine coat once more
And as he straightened up and looked down into the ripples
He saw no reflection of his life therein
The bubble of his own life just waiting for a pin
(c)Rhumour
June 19th 2009
Dave D Poet Rhumour
Tue 14th Jul 2009 17:16
Hi Andy - thanks for commenting :) I would say this is at the longer end of my spectrum, more book than performance poetry perhaps.
As for open mike, well that will have to wait a while as I'm waiting for some spinal surgery to get me mobile again first...