FORGOTTEN STREET
It may not look neglected as it sports its Springtime finery.
It may not look depressing as the shoppers stroll around.
But, even so, in Hunter Street, they have to face the changing times;
Most shoppers have gone elsewhere; these days very few are found.
They've rushed off to the Shopping Centres, springing up on every hand;
Every suburb has, it seems, a shopping monument.
One by one , the shops have closed, yes, even the Emporiums,
Folk have moved to other lures where money can be spent.
Yet friends, who shopped in Hunter Street, say, maybe fifty years ago,
Remember such a vibrant place, the centre of the town!
They recall the weekend jaunt when people dressed in finery
And went out into Hunter Street to wander up and down.
Now the largest store is moving; it will leave a great big, gaping hole,
And the building may lie derelict, an eyesore possibly.
I suppose it doesn't matter much; life has a way of moving on.
It is just a minor sorrow; just a little tragedy.
*
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It may not look neglected as it sports its Springtime finery.
It may not look depressing as the shoppers stroll around.
But, even so, in Hunter Street, they have to face the changing times;
Most shoppers have gone elsewhere; these days very few are found.
They've rushed off to the Shopping Centres, springing up on every hand;
Every suburb has, it seems, a shopping monument.
One by one , the shops have closed, yes, even the Emporiums,
Folk have moved to other lures where money can be spent.
Yet friends, who shopped in Hunter Street, say, maybe fifty years ago,
Remember such a vibrant place, the centre of the town!
They recall the weekend jaunt when people dressed in finery
And went out into Hunter Street to wander up and down.
Now the largest store is moving; it will leave a great big, gaping hole,
And the building may lie derelict, an eyesore possibly.
I suppose it doesn't matter much; life has a way of moving on.
It is just a minor sorrow; just a little tragedy.
*
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THE ARTIST'S SHOES.
The shoes of an itinerant.
The shoes of a man
Who walks onward, onward,
Always seeking, always doubting.
These shoes,
Thrown down carelessly
By a man
Who sleeps in his shirt.
By a man who smells of absinthe
And unwashed women.
He sits on the edge of his bed,
Looking at his shoes.
Trying to focus.
Trying to decide what shoes are for.
How long has he had these shoes?
Was he wearing them all those years ago
When, briefly, he knew love?
Did someone stand on them
To reach up to kiss him?
If only he could focus!
Did he walk the dreary streets
Of Borinage
In these shoes? They look old enough.
See! There is still a trace
Of coal-dust in the seams!
Dd he polish them, briefly,
For Paris?
Did his brother once say
'Buy some new shoes, Vincent!'
Or was that someone else?
Where did he walk today?
Ah, pollen!
From sunflowers!
The gold dust lies thin
On the faded leather.
Or is that coal-dust?
Tomorrow
What?
Ah yes,
He will put on these shoes.
He will walk down the street.
*
And buy......something.....something sharp.
*
The shoes of a man
Who walks onward, onward,
Always seeking, always doubting.
These shoes,
Thrown down carelessly
By a man
Who sleeps in his shirt.
By a man who smells of absinthe
And unwashed women.
He sits on the edge of his bed,
Looking at his shoes.
Trying to focus.
Trying to decide what shoes are for.
How long has he had these shoes?
Was he wearing them all those years ago
When, briefly, he knew love?
Did someone stand on them
To reach up to kiss him?
If only he could focus!
Did he walk the dreary streets
Of Borinage
In these shoes? They look old enough.
See! There is still a trace
Of coal-dust in the seams!
Dd he polish them, briefly,
For Paris?
Did his brother once say
'Buy some new shoes, Vincent!'
Or was that someone else?
Where did he walk today?
Ah, pollen!
From sunflowers!
The gold dust lies thin
On the faded leather.
Or is that coal-dust?
Tomorrow
What?
Ah yes,
He will put on these shoes.
He will walk down the street.
*
And buy......something.....something sharp.
*
5 comments:
Great post! Please have a great weekend.
Hi Rinkly,
I was wondering where my boots are? So they have flown the coop and landed in Australia.
My boots are word, but they are very comfortable.
LOL
A great post.
Sydney - City and Suburbs
Serious stuff, Brenda.
Poor Vincent, if only he knew how the world would view him some day.
And the old shopping streets -- I remember 50 years ago, shopping with my mother or aunt or grandmother and going from store to store on the sidewalk, not in airconditioned comfort. I loved it.
Kay, Alberta
I mourn the shopping streets, it was fun, now its boring malls. Boring chains, every town has the same! The shopkeepers are in the claws of the developers. I wonder why not some come together and revive the old shopping streets. I like your poem, it is sad but true.
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