HOME ALONG THE CANAL

The wind shuffles the long grass
And the broad green reeds
Shifting and rattling
By the rippling black water
Chuckling water fowl splash
Swans and cygnets hurry past 
And the weather is on the turn
It's time to be heading home

The last of the daylight creatures
And the very first of those of the night
Are sharing this half-way hour
The sky restlessly moves and changes
And bruised clouds rush over head
Like the rubbed eye-lids of a child
A weary teary child
Going home and ready for bed

The slack and glossy water
Laps at the stone beneath bridges
Echoing with the ghosts of barges
And spits of rain flick the air
Studs of cold hitting the face
Turning a collar to the cheek
And urging aching feet
Home-fire yearning me home

                               By Phil Roberts

Reviews

[charlie]

At first I didn't notice the absence of punctuation, but got caught up instead, in the tumult of imagery and choral movement(s). It's great. I was along for the ride and it was fresh!

I liked this a lot.

[Phil Roberts]

Thank you, as ever. I'm really pleased by your reaction : )

[Beccy]

The reeds, the rippling black waters and those ghostly barges are brought vividly to life in this lovely poem.

The whole poem is written in a beautifully classic way, and the lines; 'bruised clouds rush over head
Like the rubbed eye-lids of a child, ' are just so very fine.

Beccy.

[Phil Roberts]

Thank you Beccy. Your words are very kind and encouraging : )