Renee

Gordon’s poetry

River

I find I am drawn to the river, at this point near the Basin
And I believe you are too
We sit and watch the occasional river traffic
Gliding effortlessly around the bend
Towards the estuary
While others make their way
Towards the bridge, on their way to the city

The static buildings queuing up along the banks
Look enviously on, like so many dancehall wallflowers

Tall cranes, trees and waterfowl complete the picture
As we listen to the lapping of the infant wave
Nowhere else quite captures the imagination
With all its history and spirit of adventure
On an idle, sunny afternoon

A police launch darts into view and the resting ducks scatter
Some merriment is heard from a neighbouring pub
And a distant siren reminds us of the bustling activity
Taking place just a few streets away

For the moment we are spared any direct intrusion
And simply focus
On the majestically flowing scarf of water
As it simultaneously connects
And separates the two banks
We shall stay until the sun
Finally disappears behind the old Tea Warehouse

Before and After

Before

How could I forget you
You’re in my thoughts all day
Your absence drives me crazy
True love will find a way!

After

I wish I could forget you
You’re in my face all day
Your yelling drives me crazy
I’d like to run away

Cup Final (A game of two scarves)

First Scarf

No fear, ticket here Middle row of upper tier Cold beer, atmosphere We think this could be our year Teams appear, ref austere Starts the game of ‘magic sphere’ Fifth gear, running clear Past the post but very near Persevere, plan unclear Tactics much too cavalier From the rear, long career Pulling strings like puppeteer Hard, sincere, buccaneer Toward our goal the ball can steer Sudden cheer, we just jeer Simple error cost us dear Rivals sneer, pleasure sheer P iercing heart like poison spear Tough veneer, single tear Through the crowds and disappear

Second Scarf

Can’t wait, don’t be late Now in sight of famous gate See mate, short debate T hen to seats we navigate Special date, stands vibrate Quite soon now we’ll know our fate First rate, passing great Pace of game we can dictate Fouling spate, fans irate Stirring up some tribal hate Too ornate, they stagnate Hand it to us on a plate Crafty trait, orchestrate Guile for speed can compensate Perfect weight, header straight Their defence is in a state Fans create, celebrate Famous teams we emulate Jubilate, bars pulsate Talk through game, exaggerate!

All poems on this page © G A Hobbs, Imaginative Training, 2004 unless otherwise stated