Peter Thabit Jones

Peter with a stained glass window featuring his poem KILVEY HILL. Run your mouse over the picture for more details.

The Empty Park

 

                                           

 

                                     There is something sad about swings that are still,
                                     Unused, waiting for movement,
                                     Waiting for play.

                                     On a dull day (the sky a pavement-grey),
                                     The spider-web is stuck in silence;

                                     No-one rides the slide,
                                     The slip of screams down to breathless smiles.

                                     The roundabout is a crown left by a giant.

                                     The benches wait
                                     For mothers with prams.

                                     Storybook colours,
                                     The chained swings sit in green scaffolding.

                                     It is all so quiet,
                                     Like the time when the children of Hamelin
                                     Followed the Pied Piper.