17:30

creative writing, paper scissors glue, scratches in the sunlight, shit haiku, Uncategorized

“…Peterborough.”

Every home is a new build;

even the minaret behind the sidings;

even the steeple between the beeches.

“…Newalk Northgate.”

Dun rabbit in a orchard;

fenced scrap of scrub –

corrugated sheeting. New builds.

“…York.”

Victorian iron & glass, arches. Railway museum.

Silver Birch. Sleeper stack, redbrick, flint.

Two-up, two-down terrace. Slate.

“…Darlington.”

Sunset (flaked salmon, semen, bruise).

Painted & repainted railings, repainted.

Sash windows. Cigarettes on the platform.

“…Durham.”

Cathedral of cake.

More iron & slate.

Rooftops & rain & reflection.

“…Newcastle.”

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20 thoughts on “17:30”

  4. Your post brought up an important question in my mind. In America, the 17:30 would be known as the 5:30, and now I’m wondering if the protagonist in the Who’s 5:15 is out of his brain in the early AM or PM. It really changes the imagery. In my mind, this has always taken place at 5:15 PM but as I think about it, much more likely to cap off a long night of partying. Poetry makes you think!

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    1. Hmm, good point, Jeff. I seem to recall that Jimmy sneaks into a First Class compartment and shares with a begrudging and irritated city gent on his way home to the suburbs…
      Hope all is cool mate

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  6. Wow – I have never been to these places – but what a vision!

    “Sunset (flaked salmon, semen, bruise).”

    “Cathedral of cake.

    More iron & slate.

    Rooftops & rain & reflection.”

    Before the lockdown, we had plans of traveling with out music . . . just gypsy gigging around – perhaps when the world reopens it will be time for a visit!

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