Should architecture
be stimulating
and pleasing
to the mind and heart?

From far away they come
hard men all,
mercenaries under a foreign sun

oblivious to its rays they
bare all, turning puce red
or peel, under hard hats,

cut down jeans, working boots,
tool belts, like desert rats
fighting for a new horizon

Scouse, Manc, Paddy
nicknamed and framed
by the mockery of their peers

shouting language across green lawns
not yet laid, that most definitely
won’t be heard in the select circles

that will inhabit these modern homes
castles one and all, individually the same
oh no, they won’t be welcome

lowering the neighbourhood tone,
four wheel drive and pick-up
replaced by Mercedes and BMW

Nature settles in again, to frame
like the scar around a wound
healed but never quite the same

So they move on, soldiers of fortune,
mercenaries under a foreign sun
building new structures to change our futures.

Scratch the itch from the poison of modernity
in the tapestry of culture as it contrasts and conflicts
in gentrified decay; where UV is cast into stone
as it crumbles to the sound of archaic rhythm.

Only some of the clock hands refuse to turn
to allow different splinters of time to converge.
as others idle by propelled by contemporary euphoria;
grinding on ages already passed.

Mechanisms of time fragment in the sound of simplicity,
relics are no longer held in memory
but carved in hieroglyphs,
worn into cobblestones of interchangeable streets
all leading to a history which repeats.

The contemporaries show the world at it’s best as a panoramic pane of glass,

     Clad in bloodless steel.

But it has never looked more a forbidden garden than between prison-bar windows,

     My view is the sweetest fruit.

And I wouldn’t take the modern architecture because what now looks like paradise,

     Is probably a parking lot.

Today is a day of travel
Late for the first train
Early morning marvels
We're lucky there isn't rain

With you I needn't strain
My love and I
Oh my sweet Samuel
I can't wait to see how far we can go

Our first big trip
Together we'll see
Milwaukee to Chicago

Where the wind hymns
Through the concrete redwoods
Sheds infectious excitement
The buzz of an infrastructure hive
To pulse through every scurrying limb

With beating darting glossy eyes
Where necks crane concave
To gaze upon the monuments
The statues
The striking glory of an architectural revolution

This train, ridden in adult hood
Is still reminiscent of my youngest days
Where curly golden locks
Oshkosh b'gosh overalls
And fists the size of a common house mouse

Dutifully and loyaly gripped
The softly sanded wooden train whistle
Galloping around my grandparents
Gently cooing to the moon and sun
Until my little lungs couldn't blow any more

This trains horn is more authoritative
It asks us to hurry or watch out
But inside the car it's only a lullaby
a benevolent force
All red, blue and silver
Glistening upon arrival and exit

These metal cans have long windows
Stretching from seat to sea to forest through the trees
Children's faces adhear to it
wide eyed and chin dropped  
As we pass swiftly and smoothly

The lush verdure and crushing azure
Of the Midwest's rolling glacial fields
All transient and ghostly passing through

Farther though as close as could be
An unseen body and lonesome forearm
Reveals itself from behind the curtain seat

One finger hold a golden wedding ring
This halo he wears or it wears him ever so perfectly
Only slightly indented upon his golden hued skin
His wrist watch is of the like
Shows 11:45 upside down to mine eyes