The view

This view is not our lives, but seen from here
we might be part of it. The niceness of
the dancing trees, the clouds, birds going by:
we search each other, trying to be so.

The brick wall keeps us apart from sunshine,
indoors is more darkness, more of the raw
than the roses, the pansies, the rainbow.
The room is filled with books of world war two.

The tv screen shows horror movies, blood,
words we said keep echoing in silence,
the photos of the loved ones cracked one day,
a dog has died here, some wounds were treated.

But outside a night-bird finds a tune now.
The sun sets with more than expected warmth,
so pink and red, more gracious than we are.
The view is of us. It’s what we saw go.


Comments on: "The view" (16)

  1. Another well-crafted portrait of life πŸ™‚

  2. Enjoyed πŸ™‚

  3. A lovely reflective poem.

    My TV was showing rain falling on a cricket pitch last time I looked πŸ™‚


    • Hi David,

      well as I said, it was your painting of the view in Whitby that gave the idea, so thank you very much for that too.

      lol I suppose a cricket game in bad weather is what is called wicket ?

      Arohanui πŸ™‚

  4. Another lovely “looking-at-life” poem. πŸ™‚

    L&H xx

  5. It’s often the little inconsequential details you drop in, which make the scene so vivid and help add to your always atmospheric verses

  6. WordsFallFromMyEyes said:

    Very vivid – thank you.

  7. This line struck me as quite profond in the ‘meaning’ of the poem, Ina:
    ‘The brick wall keeps us apart from sunshine’ XO

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