Formerly Lover's Lane (Poetry)
04th December 2011
They’ve buried kisses underneath the concrete
green rolling shade lies flattened — grey with dust
no blossom now the air hangs clogged with car fumes
no trees but fences nailed with autumn’s rust.
Our narrow stream’s piped deep, its trickle silenced —
whatever minnows haunt that sunless flow
are ghosts of every silver flash and flicker
half-glimpsed by drowsy lovers, long ago.
Sunlight cannot slant through bricks and mortar
and fails to dapple paths or softly weave
but bounces off brash roofs and soulless tarmac
where once it found a canopy of leaves.
Romance sacrificed — old pledges broken —
nostalgia’s feeble protest swept aside —
hearts carved in wood to mark love’s generations
burning as the trees that bore them died.
They’ve changed tradition’s name — for who would come here
seeking a quiet spot to be alone ? —
the stars have turned their fickle constellations
the tender moon has found another home.
The breeze is left, grown querulous lamenting
betrayal where thin shadows now embrace
and whispers thread the emptiness with longing
stir the heart and bring to mind a face...
in thrall to love, enchanted by the moonlight
seduced by one hot summer’s fleeting dream —
the lane bewitched young blood, its promise surging
wild as sap that rises hopeful-green.
The lane is gone — the girl’s a fading echo —
and all those courting couples here before
are dispossessed — love’s spirit sent to wander
strange unimpassioned streets forevermore.
green rolling shade lies flattened — grey with dust
no blossom now the air hangs clogged with car fumes
no trees but fences nailed with autumn’s rust.
Our narrow stream’s piped deep, its trickle silenced —
whatever minnows haunt that sunless flow
are ghosts of every silver flash and flicker
half-glimpsed by drowsy lovers, long ago.
Sunlight cannot slant through bricks and mortar
and fails to dapple paths or softly weave
but bounces off brash roofs and soulless tarmac
where once it found a canopy of leaves.
Romance sacrificed — old pledges broken —
nostalgia’s feeble protest swept aside —
hearts carved in wood to mark love’s generations
burning as the trees that bore them died.
They’ve changed tradition’s name — for who would come here
seeking a quiet spot to be alone ? —
the stars have turned their fickle constellations
the tender moon has found another home.
The breeze is left, grown querulous lamenting
betrayal where thin shadows now embrace
and whispers thread the emptiness with longing
stir the heart and bring to mind a face...
in thrall to love, enchanted by the moonlight
seduced by one hot summer’s fleeting dream —
the lane bewitched young blood, its promise surging
wild as sap that rises hopeful-green.
The lane is gone — the girl’s a fading echo —
and all those courting couples here before
are dispossessed — love’s spirit sent to wander
strange unimpassioned streets forevermore.