Monday, 10 December 2007

Poem: At the Falls of Clyde

Deep breath: no water waits
Flowing, insensate haste
Rushing to fate embrace
Closer, the river waste

Water, rough gathered power
White-brown at Cora tower
Black ink deep foaming trails
Down sweep white charger tails

Boom! to the thunder depths
Leaves fall as snowflakes swept
Forss, for her sisters wept
Roaring Clyde rumble death

Gorge deep; the torrents boil
cauldrons of ceaseless toil
Spray high an atom stone
Pounded it rushes on

Fate grips, the river runs
World turns and turbine hums
Stones grind a battle ground
Roaring through awful sound....

Less urgent. The kettle boiled.
A train bumps, the spring uncoiled.
Up high: the treetop bright.
Ah! Up high the treetop bright!
Sweet bird song 'mongst treetops light.

1 comment:

Confessions of a dog walker said...

Oddly enough, I prefer this one to the later one!