Footfalls groaning gravel crushed;
moan of wind and crazy doors…
In spring the dandelions break
through crumbling bricks
as mortar dust to death.
Where once were windows,
stares the empty sockets now, while
mildew grows from coffee dregs.
It’s said they left in haste before
the black rain buried them,
before their cancer grew inside.
A Flash 55 on the theme of Ghost towns for Kerry at toads. Will be linked to Poetry Pantry tomorrow.
—-
June 3, 2017
Björn Rudbergs writings 
Realistic and depressing. It could happen so easiy again!
The hate that creates these ghost towns knows, no limits, beyond the imagination and cruelty, of those, responsible, for this crime against humanity.
It’s disconcerting to think of such a huge city being a ghost town – and horrifying to contemplate why.
The fact that ghost towns like this exist because of human action has to make one sit back and think. As a species, what have we become.
It can happen many ways, nuclear radiation or a mine runs out, even the land could become arid or the sea is rising. It is all part of the foolishness of mankind.
you kept these lines stark and clear which is just the mood needed for the ghost town – excellent poem from its very beginnings:
“Footfalls groaning gravel crushed”
It’s sad to think that ghost towns like this exist because of human behaviour.
A sobering write – such vivid imagery
The authenticity of your description, makes this all the more an eerie portrayal of things still to come in this crazy world that learns nothing from the past.
humans are such excellent architects of creating such ghost towns….well captured..
Abandoned for Chernobyl? Anyway, we get lost in a “moan of wind and crazy doors” and the sense of sudden interruption viewed much later in time is strong. Probably needs another line to tell us however why we’re there.
i enjoyed this depiction. we have many and growing in the U.S.A. gracias, mi amigo
Oh my! Gorgeous – powerful – a punch to the gut. Bravo!
Hauntingly realistic, there are so many abandon places. If walls could talk, can you imagine the stories they could tell?
“In spring the dandelions break” … I love this line. Like there are no more wishes — or wishers.
Often we are treading unbeknownst on ghost towns. One wonders if we will one day be a lost civilization. Good write, Bjorn. Somber thoughts for a Sunday morning.
Only dandelions left…..as a species, we learn nothing. Sigh.
Your haunting words reminded me very much of the work of Zoriah Miller (https://www.flickr.com/photos/zoriah/). Beautiful (but also heartbreaking) imagery, Björn.
I checked him out and he as actually been taking pictures in Chernobyl… Pripyat is the deserted town next to the power plant.
Oh, my mistake! A couple of his images had “Pripyat” in the title, so I thought he had been there too.
I like the comparison of the windows to empty eye sockets….so haunting.
very good piece.
I do believe Nuclear power is in decline… I hope.
Very well expressed, those last and final lines create such a strong echo of reality,
Elizabeth
Not another plague, please. That’s just my first impulse in first reading
Very provoking poem Björn
Much love…
So depressing, so realistic and such a well-painted picture, Bjorn. I love the lines:
‘In spring the dandelions break
through crumbling bricks
as mortar dust to death’
and
‘mildew grows from coffee dregs’.
Ooh… chilling. And there’s the picture! Somehow I find myself thinking about zombies, maybe radioactive ones.
This could go either way… (sobering remains vs people escaped)
Gets eerie here doesn’t it. I saw a documentary of Chernobyl now. You don’t want to stay there so very long. We’ve been to the Ukraine but not north to Kiev, just along the Black Sea.
..
very powerful ending!
Pripyat is a sad and lonely place, abandoned to time, and you have captured the sadness and loneliness very well.
I really enjoyed the imagery you created in your poem. I didn’t even need a picture to imagine the place you described. Well done.
the place and the people – never to be the same.