I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world, to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your blog posts as much as possible.

6 April 2009

Town Hall Clock (April Challenge 5)

Prompt: a landmark

I seldom see it now.

Just occasionally on TV
there’ll be some fleeting item
about Launceston, Tasmania,
and often enough then
that particular location.
But anyway

it wasn’t the seeing,
though that was reassuring too —
the graceful old stone,
the reds and browns and creams
and the broad tower —
so much as the hearing
every quarter hour

and on the hour
the striking of the notes
melodious and slow.
You could hear it all over town.
(I wonder if you still can
now that the town
is so expanded?)

As a child I lay in bed
the many sleepless hours
after nightmares,
and got myself cosy again
listening to those reliable chimes.
There was something mothering
about that clock.


  1. nice. wonder if I can used to the church chimes so much that I'll miss them...

  2. Well, I grew up with them, they were always there. And, being clock rather than church, they carried no other associations; they were for the whole town. A kind of "All's well".