Today’s prompt is to write poetry inspired by Ciaran Carson or Walt Whitman. Essentially “leggier verse” than previous poems. A bit experimental and the most “prog rock” title that I think I’ve ever used…
He watches the shadow people stand on Yorkshire Street by the iron gate
Run a pointed ash stick along the grubby black bars of the iron gate
someone comes, yells at you: “stop that bloody racket” along the iron gate.
One day, you will walk down stone steps, open the door behind the iron gate,
sun sucked out by that door’s deepest blue, the mottled paint on the iron gate.
Come on, hold my hand; we can’t break the lock. Hold on to me and the iron gate.