A Walk in Cologne by John Greeves We walk the aftermath of war. a quiet Sunday morning in Cologne along avenues towards the Rhine.
Where a hand holds mine, ever tightly, father to son. His leather glove sleeved in herringbone, a wide brimmed trilby to urge me on. Under pollarded trees, slanted by light we stride, step by step. Past clanging trams unwavering lines set in parallel discourse.
A dog barks, racing back and forth on a moving barge.
Ever steady in our walk, past sleepy homes not awake. Until dreary buildings part like curtains, to this vibrancy of river life and colour.
Leaping like a circus acrobat spiralling all belief with somersaulting certainty.
White wake barges, Flapping tricolours from wheelhouses. Men travelling freely.
This act of tumbling dog caught for ever in wind slapped applause as I let slip my father’s hand.
John Greeves originally hails from Lincolnshire. He believes in the power of poetry and writing to change people’s lives and the need for language to move and connect people to the modern world. Since retiring from Cardiff University, Greeves works as a freelance journalist who's interested in an eclectic range of topics.
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