Chain coiled snakelike now rusting remnant,
heavy and dust brown carpet,
unmoving, unmoved.
Light fallen shadow brightness as fingers unclenched,
Illusion of clarity as focus tenses,
tightening, tightened.
Industrial presence now industrial ghosts,
walk booted dockside granite grey,
spice scented,
tangible memory.

Teasel towers make slim shadow lines,
over wormwood weeds, waving bouquet seed heads amidst long grasses.
Poppies husky rattle,
spiders webbing silk,
first chills in the air,
curl and colour.
as life slows,
towards seasons turn.

I would hold on if I could do so, to a concept,
try to retain an idea as it shatters and dilutes,
exposed as it is to a real world

I would hold on if I could do so,
to the thought which pushes to be realised,
reasons to be executed beyond myself

I would hold on if I could do so,
To the innocence of imagination,
It’s purity and passion.
Savour that moment just a little longer
and hold on if I could do so,
forever

London’s hot
it steams after a night of thunder
the parched ground shows signs of run off
leaves cluster amidst lime flowers
beaten to the soil by the deluge in the darkness

the people and their movement
seem slower in this airless humidity
even the conversations sound quieter
as if the storm softened their bark
as the day unfolds in the bright light
the brief freshness of last nights downpour is a dream

lunchtime in a small Italian bistro
the green of pesto as fresh and promising as springtime
outside the humidity sets the pace of afternoon
always a little awkward in the heat
London slows to a shuffle
unwilling or unable to fully accept a Mediterranean day

eastbound weekend underground train
heads overground for Liverpool Street
an air conditioned sardine can
filled to the gunnels
noises blending and contorting
to make a music as yet unfound

moving through it on a breeze,
in a daze, removed yet present
words cutting my pathway home
London is hot
it waits for another night of thunder