Choir in Thornhill

[hallaig]

Choir at Thornhill


Thornhill, a Sunday evening,
children sing in the eaves like birds.
Outside, all around us,
the clouds are moving,
the geese are moving,
the road with its tar heart is pumping
north and south, and here a note
is held over our heads like glass,
and nothing moves,
the seconds drop anchor
in mid dash like clipper ships,
the wind sunk from their sails,
with that sound hung still, like a flag.

[PrinceMyshkin]

That closing line is so fine!

[Jerrybaldy]

If I am deciphering correctly this is the most poetic of traffic jams .

Particularly liked:

the road with its tar heart is pumping

[Bar22do]

the seconds drop anchor carries much disquietude... and the clouds are moving, the geese are moving... while the road is jammed... the contrast is so well achieved here, as is the whole poem. Thank you hallaig!