Rhythms of time
gathering pace.
Working up to the wave
that crashed into me,
propelled me forward
and now sucks me back.
Thirteen decades.
Back.
To a place beyond my imagining,
so tidy now after the crash.
Gentrified now.
Rippling gently.
But before,
in my father’s time,
there was beer mixed mud
and crowding children
and smells of horses
and metal.
Working.
Fire and metal work.
Children who
would leave behind
the mud,
and country
smells,
for the dust
and smog.
For the city grime.
Streets and factories.
More fire and metal.
Bigger.
Grander.
And what then?
Still poor.
What then?
What secrets lie in those rhythms
of time
washing over me
now.
Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. She was shortlisted in the Theatre Cloud ‘War Poetry for Today’ competition and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and a Rhysling Award.
Find Lynn at: https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com
and https://www.facebook.com/Lynn-White-Poetry-1603675983213077/