Greenlane Poetry

All Saints 3pm
Bad Day
Bar des Sports, Charly-sur-Marne
Before and After the Watershed
Call to Witness
Carte Postale
Clerk of Works
Dog in the Night
Easter Saturday at Festubert
Force Nine
Forge Island
Four Chimneys
Half Empty
Homeward Bound
In Glen Howe Park
In Provence
Kilner's Bridge
Last Train
Lilac Time
Mungy Lane
new title
new title
North Line
Painting By Numbers
Per Ardua
Routine Visit
Silent Snakes
Spring Training
Students in Crookesmoor
The Don at Swinton
The Festive Season
The Runners in the Fields
The Seasons
Treatment Days
Trips to the Seaside
Up Train
Valley Mist
Weston Park
What Love Is
Winthrop Park


Four Chimneys

I know where we are- we are at four chimneys
yes but this was once the water meadows
when the shoaling Don held up the
vessels plying from the coast

what she saw was that four chimneys
black and then the sky less dark
what she did not see was
swifts that wheeled with martins
in the troubled sky swallows
in spirals over willow trees

What she could not see was flags
that cracked and factory smoke
in rising breeze

Often she would say
What she never saw was ever changing
landscape in the clouds
the mystery of a million awesome stars
at fall of night

What she never knew or never said
was how we came to be the way we were
or by what judgement some were blessed
and some denied

What she knew was for a moment dark was light
we were at four chimneys