Walk in the Park by Frances Gow

A horror poem…

The London Postcard


In autumn drizzle under skies of mauve,
the neglected street lamps flickered.

The air tasted of iron filings and wet
damp leaves from denuded trees.

Destination to the Manor Park east,
nestled twixt the noxious traffic street

and the Council’s finest terraced menace,
to Itchycoo Park, that’s where I’ve been.

Past the hidey holes of urban moles,
deep in the dark of shameful pasts,

I stay for a while under dreamin’ spires
to rest my eyes in shades of green

black, purple and blue, hard to tell
in this light. Then I heard the crack.

Like the sky being zipped right open,
a bolt of lumos deposited quicksilver

Scuttlers right in front of my path.
Now I feel inclined to blow my mind.

What did I do there? I shied, I cried, I tried
to hide but the moles wouldn’t let me play.

What did I feel there?

View original post 131 more words


Posted on December 8, 2013, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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