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Concrete Footsteps
Concrete Footsteps Pounding, concrete footsteps Announce your arrival And soon I am trapped, Torn by metal claws And imprisoned by geometry. Forget me at your peril, In the darkness I persist. I may be enslaved, but Your book of knowledge was stolen And, in the final chapter, It will be reclaimed. ©Bernie Delaney Notes I wrote this poem in response to the visual prompt of the above picture. ” What do you See? “ Other Poems: Ice Drop Anchored to the Past The Window
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Short Story: The Hunting Ground ( Flash Fiction )
The Hunting Ground The shop tills clanged to their own rhythm, like the beating heart of an urban jungle. The scent of mingling perfumes hung in the air, enticing passers-by to drop in. Rows of assorted boots and shoes were found at ground level, while racks of desirable fashion formed a canopy on top. In between, at eye level, were shelves of other temptations. Sparkling pieces of jewellery, each neatly boxed and colour coded. Designer handbags, with price tags to match. Luxurious scarves that dangled at just the right height. ” Shopping Nirvana”, Bill used to joke. The top layer of Dolan’s Department Store, the canopy, was Janet’s favourite hunting…
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Ice Drop: Poem
Ice Drop In the cold depths of winter, The frozen snow Holds close and deep The secrets entrusted It to keep. On a thawing day in spring, A shiver of sunshine Touches the snow, Shakes loose an ice drop With its’ glow. A single moment in suspense, A lifetime in the waiting. Ice drop melts, falls, Splashes in tears, Exposes all. ©Bernie Delaney Notes on Ice Drop Poem: You can see a larger version of the image by clicking on it, or you can view on flickr. Other poems: Anchored to the Past …
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Anchored to the Past: Poem
Anchored to the Past Anchored to the past, Where shadow hunters stalk the air and sea, There is no escape , no sanctuary. Squawking seabirds, stinging jellyfish, A lone shark looming large Baiting its’ next blood-soaked feast, All await in the ocean of yesterday. Fight or flight to freedom? The mind is trapped in sunken time, Its’ anchor well secured. Free? How can one be free When the captors are shadows And the rusting chains of yesterday Shackle victims below. ©Bernie Delaney Notes: This is an updated version of a poem, based on a picture of an anchored shipwreck, Donegal , that I’ve been working on recently.…
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Poetry: The Window
The Window You opened a window on your world And a sudden rush of sea breeze Tossed my hair, touched my face, Brought the taste of sea salt in its’ wake. And I could hear your footsteps On the rocky path, Winding their way Precariously Round the craggy headland. Could see with your eyes The misty morning colours, Sea and sky blended from soft pastels, A peaceful palette, a gentle awakening. You smiled and asked me in. But I could only stand transfixed, Trapped in my own world On the other side Of the window. ©Bernie Delaney The Photograph Click on image to see a larger version…