THE PRICE OF FREEDOM
Posted: Mon May 02, 2016 6:17 pm
THE PRICE OF FREEDOM ... Maureen Clifford © The #ScribblyBark Poet
On the corner there is an ornate lamp post
a relic of earlier times - a distant glimpse
of what once was
when people were more gracious
time less hurried
before motorways became the accepted norm
and the combination of slippery roads
and wet bank holidays
began their natural cull.
Bank after bank of tulips reflected in the lake
like the winking tail lights of cars
red and amber, red and amber
and in the ambient light ....
the spring colours, the old houses, the ornate lamp post
offer a moment of sweet relief.
But the price of freedom does not come cheap.
Gold coins are fed into the gaping maw
of a gangster standing on wall to wall axminster.
There's safety in numbers,
but the numbers never come together.
The kings don't congregate here - or work for good.
They are lazy loafers
that spend their days aimlessly reeling about.
The bar fly - glass in hand
swipes idly at the condensation on the bar
making pink puddles as it mixes
with the red dust coming in.
He is standing on the bottom rung of the ladder now.
The lowest of the low - brought down by his addictions
to booze and gambling ... nowhere left to go.
***
On the corner there is an ornate lamp post
a relic of earlier times - a distant glimpse
of what once was.
It sheds its light over a mound
of putrid road kill
alongside the winking lights
blue and red, blue and red
as slowly the warble of the sirens
playing a final dirge, sink into silence.
On the corner there is an ornate lamp post
a relic of earlier times - a distant glimpse
of what once was
when people were more gracious
time less hurried
before motorways became the accepted norm
and the combination of slippery roads
and wet bank holidays
began their natural cull.
Bank after bank of tulips reflected in the lake
like the winking tail lights of cars
red and amber, red and amber
and in the ambient light ....
the spring colours, the old houses, the ornate lamp post
offer a moment of sweet relief.
But the price of freedom does not come cheap.
Gold coins are fed into the gaping maw
of a gangster standing on wall to wall axminster.
There's safety in numbers,
but the numbers never come together.
The kings don't congregate here - or work for good.
They are lazy loafers
that spend their days aimlessly reeling about.
The bar fly - glass in hand
swipes idly at the condensation on the bar
making pink puddles as it mixes
with the red dust coming in.
He is standing on the bottom rung of the ladder now.
The lowest of the low - brought down by his addictions
to booze and gambling ... nowhere left to go.
***
On the corner there is an ornate lamp post
a relic of earlier times - a distant glimpse
of what once was.
It sheds its light over a mound
of putrid road kill
alongside the winking lights
blue and red, blue and red
as slowly the warble of the sirens
playing a final dirge, sink into silence.