The Inkwell#FFFC #Abandoned #Derelict #Brokenwindows
with thanks to Aron Jäger@unsplash.com for providing the Image
I remember the weeks before the builders moved in
the children, were now learning – in bright shiny blocks
up the road in the next district
whilst the old building sat – a nest for the birds
and a target for vagabonds with little on their minds
smashed glass and vibrant graffiti the order of the day
as the old iron gates sat rusting
waiting for the wrecking balls to arrive
An acrostic poem written to a Photo Challenge on Allpoetry.com
(played around a little with the photo in photoshop!)
Sitting in a dusty hallway
The old grand master sits alone
Expecting someone to play him
In his time – he was a legend
Nobody could beat him for a tune
When his black and white keys played – people listened
As they waited in the lounge – waiting for their room
Years went by, the hotel closed, and he sits there alone
Perhaps in time, they’ll find me
and give me some release
Tuesday, May 17th 2016
A piece of poetry written by Inkdrop for the Inkwell in response to the prompt from Daily Post
Going to the game
Longing to see the team at
Old Trafford – but left on the Salford side of the canal
View of the Stadium assured but
Expectations dashed – no sign of the game
Someone’s left him by the waters edge.
As the humans left
the old Victorian building
squatters moved in
to take their place
The new owners
took a shine at first
to their feathered friends
but not for long
High pitched noises
Made it clear
to the Winged residents
“Not Wanted Here!”
And so, buildings been done
without a need
to give feathered locals
a regular feed
But, on nearby rooftops
the winged ones are back
and heavy set builders
fear feathery flak
