Maze

Poem By Beryl Stockman

Every year grey streets return and grey tones on brown,
Damp seeps through to everything,
And someone sits in a doorway forbidden to go in.

Within recent memory there was wind that scattered leaves,
There was colour, now most of it is gone.

Still someone sits in a doorway,
And may not cross the boundary between cold outside and warmth within.

In places icy draughts are funnelled,
Corners capture them tall buildings draw them in.

You can escape through pockets of brightness,
In this wilderness somewhere there is the colour of fire.
Fragments of mosaic, patchwork, bright paper.

And cold that is deliberate like ice in a glass.

Here is merely an icy street,
Bricks, paving, bare railings, grey rooftops, concrete and grime.

Leafless trees and cast out items,

Nothing that speaks of home except a discarded mattress,
And someone who sits in a doorway and is forbidden to go in.

Comments about Maze

There is no comment submitted by members.


Rating Card

5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of STOCKMAN

Pylons

The sky is like a drive-in dream,
Pylons laced together against a watery sun,
And every angle, every corner turned,
Brings scribbled clouds washed in aethereal light,

January

The wind cuts sharply last night snow fell,
Now branches bare dark bones to a frozen sun,

Seagulls perch and fly above the line of the rooftop,

Dreams

Our dreams touch
Forming criss-cross panes of light,
I search the maze
For the right answer to your question