Poetry

Tuesday, 31 October 2023

Bodza utca 2021 Summer

 All the bells and the whistles

And the flights taking off

The shoes on the run way, the tarmac 

going soft

In the heat that feels like the street

got a cough

and is wheezing and teasing the trees to turn off

But the trees are shy and turn their branches away

As the birdies they fly from the nests where they stay

And the shadows crawl across the hours of the day

As Bodza street wakes in it's inimitable way


The dogs begin their barking and the trucks

begin to rumble and the whole earth shakes

But the foundations do not crumble

And the plane takes off, or a different one lands

As they groan in their descent, like the ascent of man

And there are some neanderthals and some who stand up straight and tall


And there are some cathedrals which ring their bells to cap it all

and then there is the pigeon calls who hum and burble coos 

in the leaves of the trees of the capital


And the burgeoning degrees of freedom stand

Like men and women shaking hands in separation April

To Self isolation autumn

The diggers and the straight laced boots of my degradation

And fastening don't get cute

Before seat belts became a regulation

Then car crashes and tobacco stashes,

Lie in the police station


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