Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
Sunday, 2 October 2011
Framed
Endless shimmers
Wave after wave of nostalgia
Patterns thought never to be repeated
Bring their own sense of what’s gone on before
They dwell here & now for a while
Before moving on, to afterwards, ever so slowly
Photographers flip out
Their flip up cameras
Form into rows and rows
To capture the ferry's berth
We are number two
In the orderly queue
We look back, focus
With a self satisfied smile
On our fellow travellers
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