New poem

A new poem by Mike Marqusee published in the Norwich Writers’ Circle Annual Anthology

The urbs on the hill

The urbs on the hill is primitive: a density of angles,
shadow slicing shadow, rooftops
stilled in the dance of unplanned geometry,
denizens safeguarded, except from each other.

It’s a compact masterpiece. The sculpture of generations,
carved in bursts, closing
and opening in three dimensions, facilitating wanderings
in a space so small it’s easy to get lost
then come back with surprise on your own trail.

Stone, brick, timber, slate, lime, rubble. Everything weighs
on everything else. Outlines softened at edges,
worn by weather and indelicate human touch,
crumbled, crack-laden but still load-bearing, upright,
sky-reaching. Still anchored, monochromatic, modest.

From its patched walls the view is extensive.
The view within more extensive still.
Chambers narrowed, topped, joined,
separated and demarcated. Populated.

The urbs is hushed, blanketed with rumour, full of time.
For a moment anger issues from behind a plastic curtain,
frying smells and radio speech from a kitchen vent.
One after another they follow:
revelations compressed within a compass whose needle
swings wildly, caught between revolution and counter-revolution.