Tuesday, 11 November 2014

The Pause

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I was in town this morning at 11:00 hrs. This gave rise to the following poem, I hope you like it.

The Pause

The siren wails,
Its caterwaul blankets the town
in the sound of yesteryear.
Then, at eleven sharp,
the dull thump of a canon
echoes through grey streets.
It bounces off granite facades,
sweeps over ancient cobbles
like an invisible broom
it clears the clatter and hubbub
of everyday life.
An eerie silence descends
as the metropolis stills.
People stop to reflect,
heads bowed,
thoughts, private.
The brief interlude ends
As the "All Clear" sounds,
Heroes remembered,
thanked,
as we, the free,
resume our busy lives.

John Carré Buchanan
11 November 2014

2 comments:

  1. Excellent, John. A fine and necessary poem. Some clever choices: caterwaul, for example, is perfect for the sound of a siren. I like image of the invisible broom sweeping away the everyday sounds.

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    Replies
    1. Richard, thanks for your kind comment. The words seemed to come so easily this time, just two coffees and it was done. I guess it is easier to write when things are very close to your heart.

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