Tag Archives: film

Twelve Noon in Dubrovnik video poem

One of the ways I enjoy a holiday is to capture a memory of the essence of a moment. One could take a picture, or a video, or simply just enjoy it. But as a writer I must admit that converting all of these things into a poem affords me a richer quality of memory and observation. Writers are observers I think, and many folk are people-watchers. It’s how I came to think of street-observatories in the poem. I hope you like it. The bells are the actual bells of Dubrovnik, they were important to me, their resonance. The written poem has been included in an anthology ‘Connections’ ISBN 978-0-9573346-9-4, published by City Voices Writing group Stoke on Trent of which I am a member.

Poem by Neil William Holland

Twelve Noon in Dubrovnik

Beneath the toy monkey rising on a tour guide’s stick,
the Japanese numeral bobbing above bowing heads
and the stall holders selling their lavender,
sit the café-goers supping in their street observatories.

They assemble, in star-masses, uncountable and unaccountable.
Populating the roof-tops with their iridescent necks,
their nodding napes orange eyes and constant preening.
Cocking their heads downwards listening for signs.
The rumble of the bucket filling with feed.
We gather below, an infusion in the square

but there is no room there, people and stalls are everywhere.
Waiting, waiting, selfie sticks growing, cameras rising
and in this fusion of faces and feathers launches
a melody of cathedral bells at noon, the cruise-ships tune
as the man with the feed appears
and the clapping cloud of pigeons strum
an airborne chord; thrumming noise ricochets
off louvre-windowed buildings and marble streets.
They spiral down, a tumult, a grey cloud writhing at your feet.
Jousting and jostling until the frenzy is done
and every grain is gone, at twelve noon in Dubrovnik.

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Madeira Through A Poet’s Eyes.

Some things in life just leave their mark on you, affect you. On our first holiday in Madeira we chanced upon a flower festival and I saw a lady selecting blooms from a display which people were allowed to do as it was ending. However, they were not for herself, she promptly walked up to my wife, a stranger to her, handed the bouquet to her and then walked off down the street. I watched her go, this small elegant elderly lady and I am sure she was just a member of the public in Funchal. What an act of kindness, a thought for someone else, a creator of memories. Isn’t it good to be human sometimes? How far does an act of kindness and selflessness reach? I’ve held on to this memory until finally I produced a poem from it which I like to think is my gift back to the lady, the island and its people. We had the flowers in our room for our whole two week stay. The actual flowers are in the vase below. My poem they led me to create is also below. Sometimes the world can be a truly wonderful place.

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