An Early Morning Walk Through London, Wednesday, 9 December 2015

Oxford Street, London, Early Morning [Original]

Oxford Street

 

 

Oxford Street, London, Early Morning [Instagram]

This image first appeared on Instagram

 

 

Double Decker to Bond Street & Piccadilly Circus [Original]

Oxford Circus Underground

 

 

Double Decker to Bond Street & Piccadilly Circus [Instagram]

This image first appeared on Instagram

 

 

Piccadilly Circus, London, Early Morning [Original]

Piccadilly Circus

 

 

Piccadilly Circus, London, Early Morning [Instagram]

This image first appeared on Instagram

 

All images taken with a Samsung Galaxy Note 3

the ampersand & et cetera

the ampersand & et cetera

(parentheses whisper clues)

comma slips into coma then full stop gone

exclamation breaks the news!

 

a question marks the answer

that feeble lines pursue

too soon the stanza’s broken

and capitals fall askew

 


Published in Underground, Issue 6, April 2011

ode to disorder

somewhere in the chaos are

the spontaneous mistakes

that make a day particular

 

paths that lie unplanned hidden

in erratic overgrowth

 

in the mess of photos

scattered throughout cardboard boxes

childhoods hide in fading tones

 

in the disarray of LP records

leaning across hi-fi shelves

hum the scratched songs of your forgotten youth

 

in the creaking cases of second hand book stores

great words wait to carry you

 

held in disorder lies a sweet bohemian breath

waiting to plant a kiss on your unsuspecting cheek

 

eject your AirPods and listen to the street

 


Published in Underground, Issue 6, April 2011

Published in The Frequency of God, Close-Up Books, December 2017

 

No Tears Shed

At the end of a life spent in utter pride

what questions linger in the dormant mind,

what life of chosen solitude led,

that would end in silence with no tears shed.

 

In ageing years when support is sought

from those whose love in frail arms caught,

what sorrow is absent from deathly bed

when a life could pass with no tears shed.

 

In distant home, in sufferance lied,

among strangers a woman gave up and died,

what hope of remorse when all prayers said,

when a family remains fractured, the mother is dead,

and a life passes in silence with no tears shed.

 

But though these stanzas have you crucified

it would be false to say that I never cried,

I hold onto tears for what I never had,

as your life passes by me one tear I shed.

 


Published in Underground, Issue 4, September 2010

Published in The Frequency of God, Close-Up Books, December 2017