For the 'Home' bit. I'm still working on some other possibilities, but my heart's not been in it recently. This poem was written after looking out of the window on a day at work in Manchester.
A City under Construction
A bright flag flaps in the wind, and
above the sky is a grey sheet
pierced and clipped like a
giant paper snowflake.
Cranes punctuate the skyline,
exclaiming, hyphenating and
everywhere adding to the growing
mass of glass, and steel, and bricks
that redefine this city. Builders
congregate on the streets
with fat yellow hats
and no sense of urgency,
erecting barriers,
demolishing piecemeal.
The jackhammers’ relentless cry
rises above the traffic.
I miss the old city;
with its soft maternal glow,
its fallen arches, and wrinkled
pavements. There was always
warmth to be found amongst
the ramshackle streets,
and buildings that sagged
into a crooked smile.
But now that smile’s been fixed
beneath the surgeons knife,
and I shiver at the sight of it.
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2 comments:
I liked this (and I'm not a fan of poetry.)
I disliked the old Manchester before it got blown up but I like the new one even less. It's one big construction site put together as if from some child's cheap building blocks.
I think you nailed that feeling with this. (And as for the Lowry Centre!...)
Yes, shiny building blocks at that! They just can't seem to get Manchester right, before the bomb it was old and grubby (but kind-hearted) now it's all glass and steel and coldness. Such a shame.
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