Friday, 17 June 2011

The Canal

I know I don't write enough prose and poetry here, and that was my intention.  I guess with all this success...(ha kidding)  No but really, I want to send off my best stuff to publishers in the rare chance it might get accepted - and I'm worried that they might do a search to see if it's online already, so that leaves me with stuff I don't like enough to send off and it isn't fair for me to post rubbish here.  What I can post is stuff that was published years ago!  So here's a poem published in a magazine in 2005.

The Canal 

Now the canal lies like a paraplegic
Visualising leaping and running
Imagining straining muscles stretched
The sluggish canal devoid of movement.

Parallel its litter-choked margins grooves on brick
Scarred by knotted rope plucking barges
Coal laden through the oily slip
Whilst movements tide zipped closed behind.

This is how the past had been for them
A rhythm of shouting men busy with work
Wet wood creaking in disapprobation
Knots strain vibration against the narrow walls.

Now it lies a trickle through estates
Left by a falling volume odiously polluted
Where untidy men with beards fish all day for nothing
Infrequently dredged for missing persons.

And a slightly linked picture, since one of my friends on 365 was suggesting I mix word and image more (you know who you are)  This is the Bridgewater Canal, with HDR processing.

Thanks for reading and have a good weekend.

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