Friday, 18 December 2020

A BRASS WIND THAT SKIRLS

 

A revised poem this post. Thanks to the Secret Poets for their invaluable input.

rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief.


at the insistence of the impresario

he must occupy the seat of honour

and so is seated with due ceremony


ostentatiously the music begins

a vast brass wind that skirls about the tent


and how the townsfolk stare

read his face for clues

raise palms to cover mouths

speculate on his pedigree


throughout the unfolding entertainment

should his gaze stray from the ring

he sees one or more sets of eyes taking him in


after nuanced farewells

he is the first to leave

martial music highlights his exit


the night is starred, hot, still

his white suit crumpled hours before


past midnight he walks the empty streets

bells muffled by the darkness

call out each passing hour

What has changed since the last post?

Well the spacing is different. Actually it makes it easier to read. I think I must have forgotten one of my rules: always read the poem aloud, as it will sound different to when you read it in your head. 

It has a better title, more imaginative and more in keeping with the poem.

Titles are, for me, the most difficult part of writing. A good title makes and a bad title breaks your poem. Sadly I have no tips.


Here is Liz Lawrence with Hope.

Until next time.



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