fact, opinion and poetry (not airy-fairy)

Tuesday, 21 May 2013

Castle Gardens

The flowers burst out through the bars,
Reaching out toward the cars.
A kind I have not seen before,
White and spiky balls of light
Which glow in the warm springtime night.
Their escapist exuberance
Creates a kind of balance with
The crucified trees that lie within.
Nailed upon an iron frame
They seem to almost be in pain.

When daylight comes the garden turns to vile;
The winos sit upon their benches,
They shout into their mobile,
Or chat with drunken wenches,
Whilst swigging from a can of special strength.
They laugh and curse and dominate.
The people keep on walking through,
This garden's not for me and you.
Who'd sit upon the next bench to
These tattooed men who swear and shout.

More on winos:Drunkards of the Dosshouse

No comments:

Post a Comment