bubble

Poem #104 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.

Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction

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an explosion

flames
and smoke

destruction

the streets are grey
with settled dust
the buildings
shattered

a chattering of gunfire

shouting

moans
and screams

huddled bundles
of rumpled cloth

of rumpled clothes

the battle is everywhere

the war
is everything

~

the bubble
beside the river
covers
a few meters
of green

no dust
appears to reach the glass

looking in
a tartan blanket
is spread upon
a patch of grass

a couple
lie facing the flow
of the water

looking out
the sun is shining
a pleasant hue

the temperature is mild
and so very pleasant

on the river
a boat
goes punting by

the woman
gives a tinkly laugh
at something said

at some small jest
the man has made

there is chicken
in the sandwiches

bubbles
in the flutes
from out of a green bottle

~

a man falls
life ended
into the water

the river holds him
as a mother might
gently

takes him
his broken body
downstream
towards the sea

the infinity
that is the sea

and somewhere beyond
a small patch
a bubble
of green

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© Frank Prem 2017

Bachelard and me Poem #105: injecting the black

070518