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| Dreamy days… |
I recently shared a Portland poem on here by Bob Wollage, having a few people contact me saying they liked reading local poems, I am happy to share another great one from Bob, thanks go again to Sylv for sharing this with me…
A QUARRYMANS DREAM
Dawn comes -
Silent – like grief, stirring the dregs of night with cold tears.
Wooden crane jib leans – silhouette
against lowering clouds -
blackened – weatherbeaten -
by the West winds sullen hostility.
Life tired old quarryman -
stare and dream.
Watching impassive cranes display their dead strength -
in quarries.
He hears -
Dull thud of steel on stone -
protest of wheels as they strain,
Distant voices -
Familiar noises -
of which he was once part.
He’s still there in spirit -
blood pulsating.
Thoughts small and fleeting -
seep through his mind -
like quiet breezes.
times scenes and faces -
longed for places- pass
and are gone -
graveward -
As death will come -
Tearing life’s pattern -
from inert brain.
Bob Wollage – July 1980
Being a stonemason myself… I can relate. 
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Poems are great in that they share something in a way stories can’t.
Do you have any poems to share? Want to see it on this site?
Grab the button.
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