A Walk

An oily sun

turns on England, see

rolling icons:

the slick stuff of old photos in


a shade of green that still

seems somewhat unlikely.

Pylons lurch from groaning gaps

where rust and soil collide


blowing inwards a

childhood terror, egged on

by public service broadcasts –

a boy once died


alongside greasy signs, all

Danger Of Death

and yellowed reminders that

our trespasses will be prosecuted,



Out here, no good mornings,

no forelocks tugged.

Just wet stones, slowly turning.


Yet still cars pass,

out for Sundays strapped in.


A corner was taken at speed.

Birds slice up the skies.

About Benjamin Norris

Published writer of short stories, long stories, poems. Well received art critic and cultural commentator for Berlin magazines. Collaborator with operatic societies. Co-writer of fictional historic psycholinguistic journals. Lecturer of architecture and art history at a Budapest University. View all posts by Benjamin Norris

2 responses to “A Walk

  • adeeyoyo

    I love this, Benjamin, from beginning to end. Pictures in my head of things I had forgotten. Skull and crossbones! Excellent write!

  • iamforchange

    :)http://iamforchange.wordpress.com/awards-page-and-nominations-thank-you-i-am-so-honored-and-grateful/ So many have shared so much with me and I wish to share as well please accept my nominations and if nothing else know I am grateful for your sharing on your pages with us all and the time you share with me on mine.Thank you!! 🙂 Joe

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