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Poems for the People   -  Poems by the People

About the Poem

An observation of life from an attic window whilst living as a student in Stirling (Scotland) and spending too many hours town- watching rather than studying.

A Few Visitor Comments

Kari-Rose
This poem touched me. I could picture everything you described. It's a beautiful poem and I thank you for submitting it for everyone to read.
Esther
Carey. Your poem was very touching, Keep up the good work.

Stirling Town

The current hour shifts on by, the passing minutes strain
A single flower bends and sighs, awaiting summer rain
Beside the steeples' arrow head, the summer swallows dash
From flat rooftop to backyard shed, from earth to sky they flash

Warehouse roofs and hotel kitchens, china clinks and rattles
Urban fox, a shadow shifting, fights survival battles
Hunting through the rubbish bins, rich with tempting morsels
Half eaten meals, half empty tins, nothing is too awful

Cat fights high across the slates, invisible in the dark
Screeching felines, demonic states, earthbound tiger sharks
Woken babies wail and cry, through townhouse open windows
Early risers hurry by, and slowly do my hours go

Dust fades into dawn and night concedes with clear relief
No cloak for nervous creature flight, nor for the sneaking thief
Traffic rising to a drone, distant, drowned by bird song
The graveyard owl sleeps on alone, as church bells count the time gone

Summer days in Stirling Town, high over dusty streets
Garret room beneath the crown, of a grey faced house, a castle keep
Long warm days, short light nights, Saturday shoppers and buskers
Thinking time and dim lamplight, long, late evenings, hotly clustered

Conversation, loud and rash, hot young reckless anger
Always on through life they crash, age may temper teenage rancour
Foolishness around abounds, takes the spirit and the mood
Sensation seekers hunt around, for all that feels quite simply good

It is a time to warmly doze, the softest days away
Summer smells drift to the nose, and sunlight shifts all day
The restless spirits come and go, in search of ceaseless fun
Laughing voices high and low, will play until the summer's done


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© 1999 Carey Lenehan Please respect the rights of the author and Passions in Poetry. If you would like to use this poem on your own web page, please contact the Author. Thank you.