Lotte Bender on O’Callaghan Strand

O’Callaghan Strand

Arriving in cars, on foot, by bike,

All choosing the same destination,

Part of the city, yet so unalike,

Calling out in invitation.

.

Running, jogging, smiling, talking,

Clicks of heels, and clangs of keys,

Bread swinging, dogs walking,

A constant pulse, beneath the trees.

.

To the swans, most will go,

A sharing with strangers,

Conversations beginning to flow,

No sense of those usual dangers.

.

Holding for a moment,

Even those just passing through,

Needing no encouragement,

To stop and enjoy the view.

.

Sitting by the strand, that place of peace,

Enfolded within a noise that never sleeps,

Still resides a rest that does not cease,

An escape from the city it always keeps.

75

Poem moving in the direction of the swans

Poem moving in the direction of the swans

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