A distant train interrupts the silence –
a train of thought is going through my mind…
The blades on the streets are just blades of grass;
graffiti on walls in art galleries.
A lottery ticket was drifting by,
occasionally pausing on its way.
Magpies pace up and down for rich pickings,
barking dogs trying to have the last word –
I guess every dog will have its day.
Children playing amongst the flowers
for a couple of hours – beautiful day.
Women small talking about this and that,
the British obsession with the weather –
summer’s gone away, autumn’s back again.
Hot with the smell of fresh tar in the air
drifting from road works in adjacent streets –
while the traffic light has just turned to green
a boy at the crossing decides to wait;
a yellow taxi n need of a tow.
Bright and breezy model in a red dress,
free and easy with the world at her feet.
On the odd occasion that it appears
the ghost of a white horse trots in the field.
It doesn’t need the sun for it to shine
and it brightens up the heavens at night.
Looking in awe at the glass ceiling – sky,
a King in a kingdom that can’t be seen;
sitting beside him is an unseen Queen.
Silver rain falls on the streets paved with gold,
and the names of the saints are set in stone.
(A poem from the book 'Mr Blue Sky' by O. Phillips © 2009)