oasis of hope

tall trees cling to summer with tanned leaves
sporadically flecking the green leftovers
and beyond the horizon
are warehouses
dark and morose in their old and dirty bricks

vivid blue jackets, wool coats and berets
a bundle of talent whipped by the wind
we huddle against the cold

grey men pass by looking at us
unanswered thoughts in their minds
and no guts to ask us what we we’re up to

on the other side of the road
a red mail box stands
forlornly on the corner behind some railings
like a prisoner, its mouth gaping emptily

how many people use it each day?

a row of little shops
(some shuttered and some with dull eyed windows)
go from meat to medicine
standing salutes to the boulders
that the hometime children climb

the long roof is covered
with clumps of green and brown moss
and populated by scaggy pigeons
above houses with balconies but no movement

a bird flies and sings
so happy
as an empty cigarette box
dances below

people bustling, walking and talking
busy shoppers, wrapped up warm
boys in hoods on mobiles
chatting, huddled close
while litter and leaves
blow around the feet of
shivering mothers with chubby
overdressed babies in buggies

the wind catches my eye
and tears well up
at the sudden cold

and so I turn to the open door
an oasis of hope


a collective poem
by members of the Writing Lives group