This city is not as it seems
With bright lights it startles
It deceives the hopes of many
This city does not Forgive
It is the struggle of life
Dressed up in all the throes of civilisation
The history weighs heavy in this place
And all that have come before
......
helicopters circling skyscrapers
like flies orbiting giants
past and future meet
across your concrete streets
can’t love it until you leave it
a fading empire
but forever beacon
began to love you
from a distance
London fog, harshly early with strained warning,
Looms all over the image of the hectic city
There’s the smell of mists and the taste of
Frozen rain gathered before dawn.
Pulses brake and start,
And lungs are besieged by distilled grime,
Industrial tainting.
I can’t see well beyond five feet ahead of me
As I labour to walk,
But headlamps from crawling cars and buses
......
I detest a late appointment, be it love or business,
on the breath of the Trafalgar,
and with Nelson peering down at such looseness
on the revered Square, teeming with man and pigeons.
Imagine being on surveillance from such dizzying height!
Give me a break and come early,
Before Big Ben, the lone cockerel of London,
Crows with that huge metallic tone,
Ushering in dawn and her smiling, smouldering light.
Meet me at the Trafalgar with a bouquet of flowers
......
This is when the old and the young,
beasts and confraternal drunks
damn the consequences of death
lying porous on crossroads upon
bifurcated paths, fractured junctions
and ceremonial cul-de-sacs . . .
The time is immaterial,
so long as the traffic lights — the veggie-green,
the claret, and the urine-amber —choose their slow
......
With the power invested in you to give light
As from 6:45 p.m., you waste no time in
Shining warmly bright;
Gently you flourish, and with the power of
Renewed energy upon which you prompt us
Little kids, reminding us of the ticking clock
In our racing hearts.
Tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc.
And your lights, generous, shine on the evening
Sun, slowly sinking beyond giving light.
......
This is when the old and the young,
beasts and confraternal drunks
damn the consequences of death
lying porous on crossroads upon
bifurcated paths, fractured junctions
and ceremonial cul-de-sacs . . .
The time is immaterial,
so long as the traffic lights — the veggie-green,
the claret, and the urine-amber —choose their slow
......
I detest a late appointment, be it love or business,
on the breath of the Trafalgar,
and with Nelson peering down at such looseness
on the revered Square, teeming with man and pigeons.
Imagine being on surveillance from such dizzying height!
Give me a break and come early,
Before Big Ben, the lone cockerel of London,
Crows with that huge metallic tone,
Ushering in dawn and her smiling, smouldering light.
Meet me at the Trafalgar with a bouquet of flowers
......
London fog, harshly early with strained warning,
Looms all over the image of the hectic city
There’s the smell of mists and the taste of
Frozen rain gathered before dawn.
Pulses brake and start,
And lungs are besieged by distilled grime,
Industrial tainting.
I can’t see well beyond five feet ahead of me
As I labour to walk,
But headlamps from crawling cars and buses
......
helicopters circling skyscrapers
like flies orbiting giants
past and future meet
across your concrete streets
can’t love it until you leave it
a fading empire
but forever beacon
began to love you
from a distance