The Quay Staircase
By hilary west
- 1231 reads
I believe this poem's copyright was stolen from me. It was first published in 2003 by Poetry Now.
The Quay Staircase
Marked by an ancient symbol,
Celtic sandstone is a backward-spiralling carpet.
Steps on the riverbank
Become a staircase.
Leading to black-night water,
We come to Industry's river.
Fire that leapt around broken windows
Has become a fluid charcoal,
Trafficking drugs, pig-iron and human waste.
Stone shortbreads,
Sugared with dust,
Appear like a ghost.
The river died because of us,
And now its epitaph goes back in the fan of time.
A classical stairway still has a place
In a farrago temple.
And although falling badly,
An awkward skyline takes a prize in the Echo.
Yellow boots stand waiting,
At the foot of the steps.
Haunting evidence of the lost laughter and deserted soul.
A central octagon has occult meaning,
It patterns every step.
The runes are cast for the turn of the century.
Semper Eadem.
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Comments
Hi Hilary - do you mean
Hi Hilary - do you mean someone published this as their own work when it was actually yours?
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That's awful Hilary! did you
That's awful Hilary! did you take things further?
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It reminds me of how black
It reminds me of how black the river Taff was flowing towards Cardiff from mining valleys when I was growing up, and my daughter's hankie she dropped from the bridge looking so white on the surface as it floated away. But when I returned with my sister a few years ago it looked so clear and there was a heron or cormorant! Such work had been done in cleansing it since the mines closed. Rhiannon
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Another beautiful poem. Sorry
Another beautiful poem. Sorry someone took liberties with it. There are quite a few rogues out there.
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I'm glad at least you
I'm glad at least you restored the poem in its rightful place in your collection. Excellent poem!
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