Such A Big Moon Poem by Peter Jones

Such a big moon it was
that ran all down Pier Street, into the Park.
At the gate, the unknown stone soldier
stares sightless.
At the going down of the sun
we did not remember him.
The peacocks dream their peacock’s dreams
of temple bells,
and no dogs bark.

Shop doors shine darkness:
for these are the silent hours
when only the quiet voice is heard
by those who hear, and no-one does
amid the flowers.

A poster fades upon the wall
whilst in the docks
a ship leaves
for Venezuela’s distant call, unmissed
on this St. Crispin’s day.
There are no happy few: just a cat,
in sleeping, that wakes to see
a neon sign in vigil;
in these the watches of the night
unobscured by dancing light.
And in a room, a woman weeps
for morning, as do we.