City Streets. Poem by Michael Walker
City Streets.
Alma Road slopes slightly downhill,
which makes it an ideal place to start
a run in the morning, a spring in my step.
I notice Spriggens Park, which is now
a greyhound race track, going to the dogs.
In the street through the Old Cemetery,
where 'the rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep',
I see graying obelisks, gravestones
and headstones, faded epitaphs.
Beside the river and the railway line,
is a conveyor belt whereI once labored
with a shovel, wheelbarrow, and stones,
a heavy load which I struggled with.
Now I labor with words on life's conveyor belt.
There were passenger trains here once,
to New Plymouth and Palmerston North,
but only freight trains now.
'What an asset those passenger trains would be',
I think, as a red-brick wool store appears
waiting for shift workers to clock in
after they clocked out years ago.
An assertive grey processing plant looms
steam spouting from its funnels
into the air of industrial success.
I'm now on my way like a sprinter
close to home and the hints,
ideas from somewhere 'out there'.
-1st. December,2016.
Hi Michael, I'm assembling a new ebook of poetry ['Our Chains, Our Dreams'], and this poem of yours would fit nicely.. what do you think, may I add it to the compilation? It is a very good poem. Let me know
Hello Dr. Fab, Yes, that is fine, you can use 'City Streets' for your e-book. Michael.
From start to finish I really enjoyed your poem Michael. I had to smile at: 'I notice Spriggens Park, which is now a greyhound race track, going to the dogs' And: 'On Heads Road I see a sign 'hypnotherapist' outside a house: I have never been hypnotised, but the colourful roses there are hypnotic' And I can fully relate to: Further on I see an abandoned wool store, which has hideous art on the front wall. I avert my eyes from this ugliness, to look at a beige-and-grey processing plant, which has steam spouting from its funnels and the air of industrial success. This spurs me to try short sprints' Loved it...10
'closer to the muses' hints' strange how I need not even leave my house to feel full force gales of muse hints, I ran this run with you Michael and parts of Auckland I knew well in the late 70s early 80s, the Glue Pot was a furnace of meeting life, the muse always hunts creature minds down, sometimes I just greet her with a smile and even for months on end happily let the words fly free, joy is ever in the mind trips; so much in this poem haunts my hometown, small town New Zealand, in so many ways Auckland has been fed on life sucked out of rural New Zealand, a certain National Politician wants to close the entire West Coast of the South Island down, condemned to ghost towns, if successful I think I will leave this lands forever, lands which birth the Booker Prize winning 'Bone People' of Keri Hume, the Man Booker Prize and Walter Scott prize winning 'The Luminaries' by Eleanor Catton, I have a feeling the loss of small town New Zealand and city suburbs of character will leave New Zealand depopulated of rich literary achievements; nature will always produce literary depth in isolated places, today I spent time contemplating 'Mending Walls' by Robert Frost; nature is friend both to poets and novelists.
For the sake of people politicians swear to serve and protect, I hope a return to traditional values of honesty justice integrity are on the horizon, because policies of hating the poor and invading other countries does not create world peace or a peaceful world. Hate breeds hate, time to finally give love and peace a chance.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 6:02:24 PM # 1.0.0.1119
A very lively description of a town based on the images preserved on the canvas of memory dating back more than half a century from now. It's a pleasure to know about the comparative picture of past vis-a-vis present. Thanks, Michael. where I once laboured on a conveyor belt with a shovel, wheelbarrow, and stones. Now I labour with words on life's conveyor belt.
Thanks for your comment. I think that you quoted the most significant lines of it.