Kircaldy

[eclipse]

The sky is like a one armed

bandit as the thunder snaps

leaving three shades of red,

rains arrive, streets empty.

I am led to tender memories,

using Scotland as a walking stick,

it's head carved with attentive

eyes. I walk the Kircaldy streets

of my youth as I sleep, the night

seems impressed-ready to be tattooed

as it unfolds it's arms, street signs

don't have names, windows of empty

houses cry because owners have passed

away. This town near the sea is like a

spoon hovering perpetually over a jar

of honey,a seagull hovers, spying on a

passenger eating beneath the vague crescent

of the moon, the gull's friends seem to

be indifferent. A perceptive tourist will

eye Kircaldy. I am the train stations guest,

the bench a makeshift bed, my mouth is a

sleeping bag for words I have yet to

articulate. The seemingly disparate moons

are connected to form a ring of ecstasy,

that will rise as i internalize the people

and streets, eventually the sovereign will

be complete. Watching trains and then the

sea, I imagine the sea refusing a watch from

time-with a mermaid fishing in the sky trying

to hook lightning.

[badger11]

There are some images to be treasured in this poem.

 

muchly enjoyed, thank you for sharing

 

badge

[tonyv]

Barry, I agree with Badge about the images. This one in particular haunts me --

 

... the night

seems impressed-ready to be tattooed

as it unfolds it's arms, street signs

don't have names, windows of empty

houses cry because owners have passed

away ...

-- and I like it: the coming of the night in Kircaldy. The speaker says he is the train station's guest, but I am this train station's guest ... in dreams and in daydreams.

Thanks for transporting me,

Tony

[Tinker]

Wow! The imagery just gets richer and richer with each line. What a treat to read.

~~Tink