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