Ebb

 

 

Ebb

 

The flagstones remember

the footsteps of a proud people

who walked their path

before the wind formed dunes of urban rubbish

in the doorways of derelict shops,

livelihoods once,

whose signs have lost their meaning.

 

The city’s ancient core is a counterfeit fortress,

surrounded by a moat of tireless traffic, and

hedged by watchtower tenements.

At its heart, the church is secure,

by virtue of a locked door.

The sunbursts of its ceiling bosses

shine on empty pews,

a hallowed but hollowed Temple of Athena,

whose fabric is a cenotaph to forgotten gods.

In its graveyard, promise lies buried.

John Walter Taylor

© All rights reserved

revised 11 August 2024

SHARDS OF MODERNITY

 

SHARDS OF MODERNITY

 

Unnoted birdsong.

Busy Bluetooth news,

About a tempting selection,

Of AI odalisques,

Tweaked to pert perfection.

 

Hand-held computer on a silent scooter,

Zero foot-steps, slow heart-rate histogram,

Going forward (as they say), yet backwards,

To silicone curves of simian delight, 

And the kill du jour of an ancient campsite.

Speed-dialed speed dates,

Over paper-cup coffee,

Five-minute film trailers,

Starring life-shopping drifters, 

rescue-dog hopefuls, and back-alley grifters.

 

Back-packed babies,

On shopping-mall mothers,

Hands-free foraging for funderwear,

And supply-chain fruit in season everywhere,

Reaped by some ethically cleansed fellah.

 

Ersatz ciggie smokers,

Botoxed Batman Jokers,

Modern Picts with Anime faces,

Androids lurking in liminal places,

As alarm bells warn of a virtual storm.

Cordless without separation anxiety,

Cashless yet rich. Dead still performing:

Remastered leftovers in the digital fridge,

Chanting PIN, AMA, FOMO ... SIM, RAM, YOLO,

While House Sparrows wait on death row.

 

 

John Walter Taylor

© All rights reserved

Ides of March 2024