Confessions Of Inner City Crisis

Dear New York

'Who are we to scoff at such things?'



Back to the Opera 


A forced hand that stretched eyes to feed
Clutched the waking luxuries of a new dawn
Pointing a cross that reached to outer passes
A wooden hope was weighted to the palm  


Timeworn hymns carry wind between worlds
Spark poetry in stone rhythms of the heart 
Took memories and sins of all his creatures
To whet the soul with secrets of a dying art 


Diamonds of light stirred unconscious fantasy   
Liquorlike water teasing rock like warming ice  
High on peaks were clouds of purple heather
Silent rain in wet sheets grazed open the sky 


Nourishing an appetite of long-lived expectation 
With an hourglass so green it can’t be touched 
Reminded him of a name in a foreign language 
Drifting chrysalis of a time now turned to rust  


Bowing head to noble landscapes unforgotten 
Knowing nod and watchful eye from up above
Majesty of winking streams bathed in moonlight
Mother Nature’s final Opera performed to God


Written whilst visiting Wales - 

Scott Temple 2015


Music credits: 

Mister Lonely OST : (Sun City Girls / J. Spaceman 2007)

Photo credit: 

Kim Temple - Bala Lake 

Scott_Temple