Panmure

During this period I became interested in finding the poetic in what at first glance could be described as mundane. I loved finding places that were travelled through without a glance. And yet if you looked closely.

They were full of mystery and a sense of something not yet arrived.

My father wrote a poem about them which explains them I think rather well.

Gathering Places

I keep coming back

To those paintings you’ve done

Of vacant carparks

And deserted malls.

Where silence ‘deepens’

And emptiness grows

An identity of its own.

Gathering places

Where the world’s moved on.

No one’s around

And nothing moves…

That moss

On bare cement…

How it glows!

I suspect someone’s hiding

Just out of view.

Some stranger in town

Or wandering fool

Who’ll suddenly throw

His cap on the ground

And mime his rapture

To an empty street.