Cityscape Poem by Neil Crawford

Obvious rural melancholy sold by Turner, Elgar, Blake
pales into insignificance beside the cityscape.

People seen from buses, sat in the cruel, white light
of the late night launderette or the arcade's dangerous door.

The city's desperate niches radiate despair, they mirror
the pastoral fraud, these poison blossoms here.

Edward Hopper pictures, unpainted and unframed
capture unknown sitters, unwanted and unnamed.

Corners crammed with loneliness, claiming naive lives,
snatched from light to dark in the blinking of an eye.