Sunday, March 27, 2016

Robert Verdon, #92, Class War Zone

city a dried sponge,
bloody tears and brown wire,
crinkle-cut horizon,
crenellated concrete memories,
brass bells, iron fields, grey gates,
glossy blossoms over a wall,
trays of people,
hands defenceless as petals,
the glinting well of home.


  1. Replies
    1. another one that seemed to come fairly quickly

  2. it coheres in a fragmented way, which is apt, I think...the last four lines seem to pull it together. The incredible line, 'trays of people' suddenly focuses the poem and brings it home through the displacement of ugliness in the descriptions of vulnerable beauty, and identity. The contrast between the first line and the last line is good too - the latter suggesting the self identification, the affect that is unseen by the others in a place that appears dead to them, but is nonetheless a home and source of identity to many. Sorry for belabouring the point - in short, yes, it's coherent....:)


Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.