MUNICIPAL PRIDE
On this bench dedicated to E.F.Hawksworth
by his wife Lucinda 1983
these youths have no respect.
The girl is on her haunches -
the boy like a raven shrouds her,
both shrunken by drugs.
The bench of bleached oak stands as testament -
to what who knows,
who now cares?
A small patch of cleared earth
awaits the gesture of spring bulbs,
pigeons gather
looking impossibly lost.
raypool
Wed 14th Feb 2018 19:56
Thanks David. The trouble is that often when I write, I am not stating my opinion necessarily, as I can usually see many sides to any held stance. This perhaps weakens the strength of the message, but i'm not here to make judgements, as you well know. They are simply for the readers to ponder on. Sometimes that means a poem will appeal to head not heart, but that's my burden. I'm glad you know me well, and perhaps my scope is rather wide, simply because of my curiosity. Think as a child is what I say and leave interpretations to adults. Condemnation and adulation are both both sides of a coin to me. I do find your comment heartening actually and quite down to earth!
It's very nice to get a like from you Laura, cheers.
Ray