In what will be an occasional series, I’ll be taking some of the poetry I’m creating, editing and refining and posting it for a wider audience. This piece failed to place in a competition last year. It is a portrait of the town I now call my home, both good and bad.
Thank you for reading.
Pier into the Unknown Try to hear ahead, except again too tough, here in the darkest days concrete line defining shore to sea eroding tidal force of apathy; accept inside black, blue never quite agrees fresh London mark upon their palm testimony to old space, slowly absorbs a proper home, mind always yearned to own ancestry never found a means, not one. Borough spaces, once as landfill broken homes, so many churches denomination bankrupt by same source: fresh block of flats somebody else's chance to break debt's cycle, maybe move away yet still it stays, beholden somehow as Essex's Way, littered with other's bigotry each crevice, filled then papered over, done ancestry holds each secret, every own. Yet, to look beyond, mark time others fail, diverse pathways prevail shale of oyster's sensual base, you see strength in prevailing attitudes, agree outside a stereotype, brilliance lit large creative forces honing crafts, increasing worth attestation, life is what mind fashions, real paper’s testament you'll always own ancestry smiles, dictates victories won.
The Internet of Words 