Dusk Poem – And the Humming Ebbs

Dusk Poem – And the Humming Ebbs

And the Humming Ebbs is a dusk poem, a painting of a city’s evening and people passing through places and days.

And the humming ebbs – dusk poem

Dusk, and the humming ebbs
People homing, Sparrows heading
Offshore. At the bar, after-work pints
In the beer garden. On the veranda,
He rocks her chair, she reads a line from
An old book she’s read a thousand dawns
When the chirping and the rev of the first bus
Broke light sleep and the dew sweetened
The scent of the grass. A boy and a girl play
Hopscotch, Traffic and an old man can’t
Cross the road. A seagull roves down Shop Street
And lodges fronting the Treasure Chest
Swagger on her webbed rubbery feet. They dull
The colour of the paving stones. On her beak,
The red dot, the knob her chicks peck
When they are limp. But that was many dusks ago
And wingspans across a bunch of oceans. But
Distance is nothing, and still one hand in another
More golden than gold itself. Inside the glass
Teapot, the Chinese flower blossoms on a canvass of
water on the boil, talk and no talk.

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