A Quiet Life
Silence, they call it - humdrum
this fragmentary buzz of probing bees
the distant zizz of a chainsaw
a combine’s far off thrum.
Ears plugged to white noise
those tuned in to the scramble
the hurry-scurry of urban hustle
consider it a deathly bore.
A swelter of horses lather
under a tin-sheet shelter
kick against the hot hush
with a clanging thwack of hoofs.
A timely gush of water
spouts full chat and babble
churning the quiet pool
to a snap of bubbles.
Cockerels roister with plucky hens
clucking for a good lay
pigeons applaud from the rooftops
sleeping dogs snore.
At midday the sun beats its silent drum
to the steady toll of the church bell.
Duty done, it peals to the clatter of plates
the chatter of bonhomie
the ringing of pans and cutlery.
A scrape of chairs on the parquet
the chime of glass on glass
a chorus of ‘bon appétit!’
This is our metropolis, our opera
our galleries brim with nature's art.
We keep our fingers on the pulse
count the vital signs of a beating heart.
Published by The Black Light Engine Room 2015