New Ways From Old Days.

New Ways From Old Days. short poem

Uploaded by Robert Green

Through the arthritic wrought iron gate
that squeaks from a pull or a push,
up the weedy cobbled path
past the grope of a sentinel bush.

In one hand the past
In a bulbous ballooning black bag
with keys to an unburdened future
confirmed by a little blue tag

Leaving my well kept impoverisment
behind in a dimly lit world
the grit that rubbed inside me then
now shines as a glittering pearl.

I enter a soupy light
to the smell of lonely old men
with dust like talc on every top
like some soul was cremated again.

From the garden colour had seeped inside
award winning wallpaper taking the prize,
jaded roses collapsed in a pot
I felt I had trodden on somebody’s plot.

Sticky noise off parquet floor
follows me round on my mysery tour,
I entered the kitchen where toast had been burnt
and was told that the plumbing had to be learnt.

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