Yesterday along the roadside,
sucking in all the glorious
effluvium of road vehicles;
All the way from Camphill
Bieldside, Past Cults, and forwards
into the heart of town...
And a jogger nearly took my down,
like a rugby tackle,
and I usually partly preserved,
scream out - swear words!
First Bicycles - now this,
we foot pedestrians are becoming accursed,
for the masses going to work
or those trying to keep fit,
I'm trying to exercise my imagination,
that's all, taking it out for a walk,
I need sheer space, and some good intentions,
To really make it work, I mean,
but there's nothing left when your skidding
through the landscape at that rate,
But I try and scale this hidden other part
of what I am, and I cannot endorse the lamb
nor the tiger in what makes me growl or yawn...
And things are not what they used to be,
or the belief system I once used, is wrong,
so please God -
Just thrown me a bone, any bone!
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Comments about this poem (Camphill by GRANT FRASER )
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