Signs Of The Times…
(Inspired by a Peter Brook painting...)
Rain slanted, blustered by moorland wind as I walked,
Buffeting me and drenching me and thus I baulked,
Cursing the weather and approached hedgerow unkempt,
Which revealed a disused building beyond, an intrigue to tempt…
Exposed, scorned and awaiting its inexorable fate,
Its windows were like empty sockets without eyes.
Even the tree mourned, blackened in its demise,
And clawed wind aided to reach the decaying walls. But too late…
Its past had been allowed to rot, condemned beneath contrails in the sky,
Then had been stamped out of date by a ‘ban the bomb’ emblem of stark white…
But my gaze surely deceived me, for a man, a spectral weaver, stood awry
In a doorway, a pitiable fellow, staring right through me, lamenting his plight…
Pete Ray…
1st February 2026…
Looking at the painting I felt saddened by the state of the building and the tree, both remnants of working days.
The rain seemed to wash away the memories, the CND badge and the aircraft trails seeing the seal on modernity, as the deserted building languished.
But the figure…
Ah, the figure…
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