Roads and streets unfamiliar
Yet still grey drawn faces
Peer down at uneven pavements
Slabs tipsy underfoot
Coats pulled tight to tucked in chins
Hands pushed in pockets
Stooped figures limp toward the lights so bright
Shadows struggle to keep up
With these shufflers
Wrapt in hopeful talk.
.
The same battered cars line kerbs
Bumpers kissing
Litter blown by stiff north-easterly draughts
Sticks carelessly to railings.
Ice in rain fills holes in the cold breeze
Pricks pins in my face
Grey sky adopts a gloomy shade
The stadium leans in on itself
Perpetually introvert
Morose
Its pointless activity steals the joy
From coming dawns
Scarves and shirts in reds and whites
Accents more rural
Suggest spaces more green
Less concrete.
This is not my home.
.
This is far from our home
Where blue skies shine
And brilliant sun parades
Strong enough to make eyes squint
When we wake
It warms our blood
Calls us to play
Unfettered by fear of failure
At night the star and crescent
Heaven’s light
Our guide.
.
This is their place.
I leave them
Happy
To be miserable
.
CLP 27/10/2018
Journey of Words 