Sunday, February 26, 2012

On the Roof

The Wordle

An Aircraft Spotter during the London Blitz of the Second World War

asks us to use the words in the wordle 


The wail of the siren is halted; we wait for the drone of the planes.
Skyward I look for the first signs, above the city's remains.
The map of London has altered, smoke rises from earlier fires;
St Pauls stands firm on the sky-line, but where are the little-boy choirs?
Cement and stone have crumbled; murder will pelt from the sky.
I am looking for an answer and the question is always, 'Why?'
My senses are alerted by a murmur in the air;
The planes are dense and cumbersome, but ....are they over there?
I know that I am reckless and yet I stay entranced.
I am reluctant to leave it, my city which is enhanced
By the glamour of the danger, the heightened majesty,
The excitement and the tension, the feeling of History.
                 Martin Whitlock


Here see Dover Docks at dawn
On a bleak and chilly day
As one of the many vessels
Sets out upon its way.
The docks, the sea, the shipping
All uniformly grey,
Brightened by a pallid sun
And its faint but valiant ray.
The wind-chill doesn't photograph,
But it takes ones breath away.
Not quite the time of year, my friends,
For a seaside holiday!


Dr. Pearl Ketover Prilik (PKP) said...

Oh my... the use of your wordle words ... is so perfect that it seems as though there should be no other rendering... Wonderful!

brenda w said...

I enjoyed both writes. The first piece is searching for answers to why? I'm with you there.

mike ansell said...

So nice to read your poem about my town of Dover !
You're certainly correct about it not being the time of year for a seaside holiday. Brilliant sunshine all day today, but a bitingly cold wind to accompany it. warnings of a drought this Summer. The driest twelve month period for 30 years !!!
Best wishes Brenda,

vivinfrance said...

Your first poem took me back to my childhood in wartime London. Although I did love to see the searchlights, fear was predominant then, despite the feeling of making history.

The second poem is equally powerful.