Bench In The Red Sky Poem by GRANT FRASER

A red bloody Sun
hovering ephemerally
around the tower blocks
of Torry,

A jet approaching
with a silver and orange
streak along the side,

Absorbing what's left
before it sets,

I'm coming over the hill,
with pale leather toes of boots,
slightly damp,

And it's just not happening
today...

I snapped this bench,
from several different angles,

but no! , there's something not right,
and I am not happy...

I mean, after breaking away some
dead stuff, because it was in the
way...

If I've seen you once
I've seen you a hundred
times and yet,

Still I keep running
as if something might
happen or occur differently?

That's the problem with
Earth and all Poetry,
a split second time to invest,

All the best moments
seem to rush out of nothing,

although, insistently I study
everything I took,

I hate defeat, but I have learned
to love it too,

Hard on the soul, but nourishing...