In the Bandstand at Stanley Park

in-the-bandstand-at-stanley-park

A timeless bell-jar form, sans glass, it’s pillars carved from crumbling stone,
With wrought iron rails and verdigris that stains its turquoise copper dome,
The bandstand squats within its bowl and wears the mere and distant woods
Across its shoulders like a stoal. Here lovers through the years have stood
Embraced in their romantic dreams and watched the rain pin-prick the lake
Beyond. At other times art students in their darkly gothic make
Up and rebellious clothes they bought from secret racks in Top Shop, put
The world to rights with Marx and Engels. In the winter, all wrapped up
In hoodies adolescents loll and smoke their too fat cigarettes,
Complaining of world politics and how, when older, they’ll not let
The planet be destroyed like this, while carving their initials in
The stonework. Just imagine all the sights that this old bandstand’s seen,
Now peeling paint and rusting down. I’ve never seen a band here, though.
It’s just a meeting place for those who walk their dogs, or watch the rowers
On the glass tarn under clouds. It’s neo-classical, no doubt;
A metaphor on life, perhaps – but one I’ll need to think about.

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18 responses to “In the Bandstand at Stanley Park

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