The Park Bench

The Park Bench

A Poem by Phill Oz O'fee
"

My private place ...........

"

The Park Bench




There are quite a few park benches on our local central green

Which council staff take great pride in keeping spotlessly clean


But there is one particular seat that's especially incisive to me

When cobweb headedness needs clearing this soul regularly flees


Tucked in a reposeful corner point near tall luscious evergreens

One savours both length and breadth a manicured tranquil scene


Snatching snapshot conversations passing closely by sometimes

I will humorously string together in nonsensical musing rhymes


Past pampered symmetrical floral beds of multicoloured hysteria

Can be observed a delegated enclosure labelled 'children's play area'


Where groups of mothers gather in a free-for-all gossiping gaggle

And youngsters uncontrollably play until exhausted and bedraggled


No annoying smokers or dog walkers allowed access to this site

They can only skirt an iron bar circumference like roaming satellites


Munching wholegrain heathy sandwiches and flask drinking milky coffee

My pen on paper scribblings has produced some imaginative nice copy


Owed all from spending quality time in self contemplative bench bliss

Relishing every identifying experience as a creative psyche kiss


Phillozofee @ 2017


© 2017 Phill Oz O'fee



My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register




Featured Review

This is ALMOST a great poem. I love the opening & how you contrast the park-keepers’ cleanliness with the way one’s head can be full of cobwebs – a place to go to sort things out. I love all your imaginative examples of life percolating everywhere, conjuring poetic refrains & dynamic observations. I love your sophisticated rhymes. The only thing that’s a little tough to plow thru -- the heaviness of your vocabulary. I love using lots of complex words too, but sometimes we need to simplify becuz such heavyweight words can weigh down a lighthearted message like this. I’ve done this many times myself, so I understand the inner struggle between celebrating the words exactly as they pour forth, & yet also trying to be a little cognizant of the flow & ease of one’s message (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

Posted 2 Months Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

This is ALMOST a great poem. I love the opening & how you contrast the park-keepers’ cleanliness with the way one’s head can be full of cobwebs – a place to go to sort things out. I love all your imaginative examples of life percolating everywhere, conjuring poetic refrains & dynamic observations. I love your sophisticated rhymes. The only thing that’s a little tough to plow thru -- the heaviness of your vocabulary. I love using lots of complex words too, but sometimes we need to simplify becuz such heavyweight words can weigh down a lighthearted message like this. I’ve done this many times myself, so I understand the inner struggle between celebrating the words exactly as they pour forth, & yet also trying to be a little cognizant of the flow & ease of one’s message (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

Posted 2 Months Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Do you still visit the park to much on sandwiches....and to clear cobweb...:)
Love the pic.....

Something about spending some alone time in nature...a walk in park or just near the beach always refreshing...:)


Posted 2 Months Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

This is solemnly peaceful and pleasantly imaginative. All the images are vivid, and your rhymes are at times quite clever! Your musicality gets choppy at times, if I may be so bold to point out. It's not terribly noticeable, but with all the polysyllabic words, it sometimes lengthens the line too much and delays the landing on the last beat of the line. When that happens, the beautiful sound and flow of the poem can be undermined. Don't get me wrong, it's ok to fiddle around with rhythm and metre within the poem itself, but it must be done with care so as not to mar anything gold that you've already strung together. Like I said, it's not too noticeable (it may just be me trying to figure out how to read the line), but it is something you should take into account for future reference. For without musicality, a poem cannot truly breathe (it can live without rhyme, even a set rhythm, but if it has no musicality, it cannot truly dance and sing).

Also: shouldn't it be "uncontrollablY play" rather than "uncontrollable"?

Well done!

Posted 1 Year Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Phill Oz O'fee

1 Year Ago

Thank you for your kind review, tuition and words of wisdom. This is what the WC site is all about-.. read more
emipoemi

1 Year Ago

all in a day's work. :-)
I love benches as well. Mute witness of human story , pain and, hate and love. All this you catch in your words.

Posted 1 Year Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Very detailed and a good read. Well written. (:

Posted 1 Year Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Beautiful poem & image! Yes I'm in agreement with you that trees have souls. I've spent much time in Central Park in NYC , peacefully thinking, "clearing cobweb headedness", or strolling. The English park you describe seems to be such a place of peace. Love it!





Posted 1 Year Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Our parks are wonderfully calming places of reflection; sitting on a bench watching the world go by is a wonderful pastime. Trees , i am sure have souls of their own as they shelter and watch over us.
How fortunate we are in this beautiful country of ours to have such places we can retreat to when needs be.
A beautiful tribute to all English park benches and the pleasure they give.

Posted 1 Year Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Stats

491 Views
7 Reviews
Rating
Added on July 26, 2017
Last Updated on September 19, 2017

Author

Phill Oz O'fee
Phill Oz O'fee

Winchester, Hampshire, England, United Kingdom



About
I am caught in a time spiral of confusion; that period we all experience between birth and death. Somewhere inside hides a poet, writer, lyricist and/or whatever, laying dormant and suppressed by s.. more..

Writing

Related Writing

People who liked this story also liked..


Folly Folly

A Poem by Coyote Poetry


soon soon

A Poem by sette