Wednesday, 27 January 2010

re POEM 4

Accordion man

sat on the south-east side
of Piccadilly Gardens,
under the stern silence
of what were originally
Victorian cotton warehouses, now
obscured slightly by contemporary
glass and steel.

clothed in second-hand pass-me-downs,
and a slim scar, only an onyx ring
on his index finger seems
out of place on this forty-something face,
though might be younger,
if life had not dealt him a bitter hand;

handed him a royal flush
or a full house of cards,
a better hand to play
his gift in a London
orchestra. Instead,
head tilted sideways, he maps a fanciful
world with wiry fingers, as shadows
pass without a thought, journeying
towards perfectly stitched lives.

Catherine Mark


Lisa Allender said...

THANK YOU for visiting my blog, Lisa Allender Writes.
Your poetry is evocative, lyrical.
Thank you for helping Haiti, too! :)

lissa said...

I especially like the last part, it sings of real life but still there is a bit of sunshine there