Silver Street

The cobbles run uneven here,
sloped and sinking, like a old man
finally easing into an armchair.
Rain rolls in without warning
darkens the street to pitch,
turns each stone into an island
swells rivers that shimmer with stars
as the street lights lean closer
and watch you skim across the water
too quick
for me to save the picture.

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Somewhere Between The Spoons

I found the words I was looking for

tucked away inside the attic,

between the nineteen-twenties bicycle pump

that might one day come in handy

and the vinyls we’d inherited

without anything to play them on.

 

I peeled them from their hiding place,

shook the dust loose

to gain a better look.

Decided to keep them for a rainy day,

and pressed their petals between the pages

of yet another notebook.

 

When the freezer broke

poems of you came flooding free.

I didn’t know

that was where I’d stored them.

Perhaps I’d been trying, much like always,

to keep them from going bad.

 

Sun-baked and burnt,

stories of another world

crawled across the decking like ants

in neat lines of black type,

each bearing the weight

of a word count five times their size.

 

Halfway through the washing

was the character I’d been waiting for.

Curled inside the flannel,

I almost felt guilty for shaking her free

when her elbows clacked against her knees

all limbs and adventures

tangled up as one.

 

One day, I worry,

all the hiding spots will run dry.

There will be no more words to find

no matter how much I may try

and the notepads will have only petals

where once there was ink

and the keyboard will sit silent

where once I could make it sing.

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I decided to just see where tonight’s prompt took me for the dVerse Poets Pub’s Met The Bar Evening. I haven’t written a proper free write poem where I just spew words in a while so I thought I’d give it a go.