Skip to main content

Through the glass



Hello!

I'm joining in with The Prompt for my poem today, using the theme of 'glass'. I wrote this over coffee at Costa in Largs, watching the world go by and pondering over how many people watch the world go by through a Costa window (other cafes are also available), and how the things they see vary depending on where they are. I tried to highlight the things which exemplify Largs for me. But I'm also cognisant that spaces that seem the same are different for different people, so even if you've been to Largs you might not recognise mine.


Through the glass

Through the glass while the sun shines brightly I see
Ina driving her daughter
who leans on her window,
watching the ferry unload
a bin lorry,
peculiarly clean with its cargo.
Through the glass while the sun is bright I see
a little girl with ginger hair and teal hairband,
hands shoved firmly in the pockets
of her dark green woollen coat.
Despite the cold she wants
Geraldo’s ice cream.
Through the glass while the sun shines brightly I see
a red car clip a corner
behind an older couple, slowly crossing.
They glance briefly, unperturbed.
Through the glass brightly I see
a woman in a hi-vis jacket,
long dark hair pulled back.
She issues instructions to men in vans,
checking their credentials.
Through the glass I see
the woman with the long flame hair
who walks and walks and walks.
She stops to say hello to someone
as she does with me but
I do not know her name.
Through the glass (brightly again) I see
two men pass each other,
both have hands sheltered deep in pockets.
They have no nods to share.
Through the glass brightly I see
a man puffing his cheeks against the cold,
wrapping reddened fingers around an umbrella
wrapped in plastic
lest it should get wet.
Through the glass brightly I see
the bus for Gourock
with five people on it.
In the long legged seat near the back a man
lifts his eyes from his book.
Through the glass shadowed he sees
me.


© Cara L McKee 1/4/17


****update 2/4/17 - turns out the woman with the long dark hair is also Ina's daughter, and she works at the ferry terminal!



mumturnedmom

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

February update!

  Hello! Please see above for a screenshot (not sure who the photo is by) from the lovely Fragmented Voices website which has my poem, Escaping Pheasants, as their featured poem today. This poem is inspired by the pheasants which are brought in to our local country house for people who are that way inclined to shoot. Sometimes I see them flapping down from the estate wall and on to the busy road, making a break for it toward the moors. Good luck pheasants. Escaping Pheasants also features in my book, Little Gods, published by the marvellous Roswell Publishing and available from booksellers and Amazon, or get in touch to get a signed copy from me. Other recent successes include two poems in Obsessed with Pipework #105, a Haiku in Coin Operated Press ' Haiku Zine, The Libraries  came out in Culture Matters' Bread & Roses Anthology, and, as I mentioned last time, When you slow a bit you can see the way , another poem from Little Gods, came out in Butcher's Dog #19. I have ...

Happy New Year!

I can still wish you happy new year before January's out, right? Having spending a while doing research and convincing myself I can't write, I'm back in the room in 2019, sending my little baby poems out into the world. I have broken up the chapbook I was trying to get published, I've rewritten lots of stuff, and I'm happily sending them out to places where I hope they might find a happy home, while supporting some of the fantastic poetry magazines out there. One of those fantastic poetry magazines - Picaroon Poetry  - run by the marvellous Kate Garrett - has already accepted one of my babies. It was one of the ones that I'd started to feel bored by, so I tore it to bits, rewrote it, and sent it off to Kate, who will be sending it out into the world in Picaroon Poetry #16 in May (which is terribly organised if you ask me, I don't even know what I'm doing tomorrow!). Thanks Kate!  Hopefully I'll be letting you all know about more successes soo...

discovering Iain Crichton Smith

I think I don't like poetry. In fact I'm pretty sure. What I like is a brick of a book with well rounded characters, who can take me on a journey with them. I find that for me poetry can be navel gazing, twee nonsense, so caught up in its clever cleverness that it drives me to distraction. But then again, I like lots of songs for their lyrics, and sometimes, just sometimes, I come across some poetry which just blows me away. I came across Iain Crichton Smith recently at my writing group. I live in Scotland, and the other members of the group were all saying that Smith is so much covered in Scottish English (and Gaelic) classes that people don't tend to notice the beauty of his poetry. I didn't go to school in Scotland. The poets I studied at school were people like Wordsworth, Shakespeare, Shelley. I don't recall ever coming across anything like this. That said, I'm not sure that as a teenager I would have noticed it. Perhaps you have to have some i...