An Ode to London

I walk around London with my eyes wide open, 

Seeing things once seemingly hidden 

behind the grey fog of indifference; 

missed opportunities freely given.

I hear different noises, different voices, 

a symphony of humanity 

that I’d drowned out with my headphones, 

the white noise of banality.

 

I see stately stone-clad buildings

adorned with gargoyles and fleur de lis,

juxtaposed with towers of glass and steel 

and the sirens of city police.

I smell hot tarmac on a summer breeze,

the scent of street food sold by vendors.

Hear the clack-clack of a jackhammer

used by men wearing ear defenders.

 

On a sunny day, the feel of rays

reflect off a mirrored window

hiding armies of keyboard warriors,

bathed in eerie monitor’s glow.

I taste the tension of work and play

conflicting for supremacy.

Cheap perfume and body spray cover

The scent of last night’s legacy.

 

I feel it deep, deep in my bones,

the vibrancy of this city.

It hums like current in my veins,

like living electricity.

Shockingly, it’s not all rosy;

some things really bug me

but I love this place, for all its flaws, 

the good, the bad and the ugly.

 

So I’ll look up and I’ll breath it in,

this city full of wonders.

Of waiters, singers, nurses, plumbers,

of pin-stripe clad hedge funders.

I’ll treat it with some due respect,

I’ll no longer take for granted,

The place that gave me all I’ve got,

And leaves me still enchanted.

Snowman’s Plight

 Is there any sadder sight,

Than a snowman’s final plight?

Having sat there for 3 days,

With that icy, stony gaze,

One squat sentinel of snow,

Doomed to shrink and not to grow,

Scarf and hat left on the floor, 

Now the snowman is no more.

A bleak poem for a bleak November

I feel like I'm in a hole.

Not whole, I’m torn in half.

There’s a missing piece, like a jigsaw in a charity shop - reused and never new again.

Dog eared at the edges, well loved but they’ve moved on to the next story.

Or maybe I’m on a shelf, an old favourite, waiting to be picked up with a smile… a fleeting moment, transported to when I was shiny with an un-cracked spine.

I feel unseen, invisible; like a picture in an album that’s never opened. 

A has been, a once was, a memory.

Once vibrant and full of colour,

Now black and white I’m duller.

In need of restoration, touch me up in photoshop I’ll be good as new. 

Renewed. Refreshed. Revived. Reborn.

Whole again.

Seen again.

Heard again.

Reborn.

Grief on a page

 Stark. Black on white.

Dark like winter’s night.

Tears; a waterfall.

Fears defeat us all.

Whole. Not when apart.

Hole. Within my heart.

Shade, upon my soul

Made black as blackest coal.

Rage; it overwhelms,

Wage wars in hellish realms

Within my fractured mind.

Begin, the quest to find

Peace. Somewhere serene.

Cease. What’s been has been.

2020

The world around us seems to be falling apart

and the vilest of us show the darkness of their heart.

One man kneels in silence; he’s cowed.

Another kneels in violence; that’s allowed.

One rule for one, another for the others,

it’s there in black and white. Where blue brothers

stick together and the rest are separated,

the rich laugh at the poor and decency is denigrated.

Statues look down on ignorance, saluting

a shameful symbol once defeated that’s again uprooting

the seeds of peace and harmony that should still flourish.

In a world where love and friendship should continuously nourish

the body, soul and mind we find ourselves divided

by fanned-flames of hatred. The tolerant are derided

and called woke by those that are sleepwalking through

an existence which is manufactured to

maintain the status quo of us and them,

the haves and have nots. It’s time to condemn

the actions of those who are supposed to represent us,

who in a heartbeat throw those who are poorer under the bus

and take no accountability for their actions.

Instead they create further factions

between the disadvantaged and disenchanted.

These feelings aren’t yours, they’re planted

to distract from incompetence and corruption,

money made from market disruption

and while they take the lions share,

everyone else is left with whatever is spare.

But while number 10s hold number 10 to account,

it feels there’s no problem we can’t collectively surmount.

So when it feels like you can no longer cope,

close your eyes. Breathe. Smile. Hope.

Political Class-less

Double barrelled names playing double barrelled games 

of Russian Roulette,

Sawn off shotgun held to the head of the country.

Is there a single moral left amongst thee?

The priority; political capital with the fanatical,

It’s all slightly hysterical

But not in a funny way, nay, not amusing.

Parties that have no definition, one that can’t even agree ON a definition, and the public signing another ignored online petition.

And the leadership? Too busy checking whose lead has slipped 

in the national polls, 

Save our Souls 

when the ship sinks and the rats flee.

We forage for food in tin cans, spam, jam and condensed milk for stockpiling.

Farage leaves our fair isle, laughing to the Banks that he’s Trumped in his big FX short, smugly smiling.

All the while the blue, red, yellow and green that’s left mix into a shitty shade of brown and there are clowns to the left, jokers to the right and 48% want to be stuck in the middle with the EU.

Fractured City

I walk along on cracked paving stones in a fractured city

With feelings of sadness and anxiety, yet I try to be witty

When asked for my opinion on a political topic,

Despite fears that our future will be fraught and dystopic.

It’s hard to be optimistic with people sleeping on the street,

Ragged clothes on their shoulders, cups of change by bare feet

Discarded by a failing society of the elite

In nylon rubbish bags on a concrete trash heap.

While our attention is focused on nostalgic ideas

Of going back to blue passports and “cheerio, my dears,”

We’re missing problems at home, we should look at ourselves

Before casting blame on migrants or refugees or elves

Or whatever other magical, mystical scapegoat we find,

When it comes to our own faults we seem to be blind.

So if we’re ever to repair this damage that we’ve done

We need to stand and be counted and united as one,

Rebuild and regrow what once was abundant,

Beauty and friendships and all that seems redundant

In this world of “us and them” and he who has more

Where the little guy loses, this can’t be what’s in store

For my children and yours, the next generation,

Let’s not have our nation end up in isolation.