(a piece for Ruth)
Why do I find it so difficult
to write about Chorlton Water Park?
Everything’s there for the asking,
the sky and the earth beneath it,
the very path, one mile in length they say,
all round the edge of the water,
and of course the water itself,
always interesting, birds passing through,
the two islands, one at each end,
the trees and bushes and everywhere,
seats set out, not just for walkers
but in little alcoves for the anglers,
and the whole place never without humanity,
often friends well met, the kids’ play area,
but mostly complete strangers with merry dogs
clearly loving the place for its freedom,
and still the birds – geese, swans,
ducks, coots and many others,
keeping their distance, but their distance
meaning that they’re not afraid,
flying, swimming, dozing at the edges,
demanding food from anyone standing
too close to the lake,
and far off, the constant roar
of the motorway, for which this hole was dug,
a gravel-pit to feed the road-builders
and strangest of all, the river very close,
so two stretches of water, one still,
one forever moving,but both ignoring each other,
proving so well that this is a landscape
made by man, since in nature
these two bodies would surely
have joined forces, run together
as one against the land and the sky,
despite the birds, the dogs and all the people,
and the very fish, the life that lies within!
About the Chorlton Poetry Spred 2020 