GATES IN CONSTANT USE. Around
its faded yell, brambles twine
Beyond, broken tar bristles
with weeds, waits
for lost cars,
bleak and black. Opposite, the
Royal Legion Club is bars
on greyed glass.
A sun-bleached sign sold breakfast,
once. Years pass.
On one side,
a cosy road burbles light;
past it, pub lights and laughs glide
on the green:
but first you must pass through the
unloved sudden dark between.
It’s soft, here:
woods, water, meadows, and wild
flowers. We’re not used to fear.
So yes, build
the people-places, tear tar
and bleak brick. Let it be filled
bright as dandelions under
new lamps, leaving new traces
in the warm night air: the green
welcomes you and rejoices.
Thanks to The Writers' Greenhouse for the prompt to write a treochair – I keep thinking the last line of each stanza should be 3 syllables, not 7, so two of the stanzas need fixing! And thanks to Words for the Wild for their call for submissions on "New Builds".
See the new NaPoWriMo poems as they pop up, complete with pics of the handwritten drafts, and suggest titles for them, via whatever social media you call home:
All my poems on this site are now #FreeForPoets to play with, to write hybrid forms such as glosas, coupling poems, golden shovels, acrostics, centos, and erasures. Full permissions here: #FreeForPoets.