Philosophy for life
Massed commuters
iPods on
Wave of ignorance
Marching along
Poor old cyclist
Trying to get through
Smacks into one of them
Minor to-do
Felt for both of them
Embarrassed and hurt
But the ignorant pedestrian
Should feel worst.
Not on my bike today, I observed a nasty bump as commuters spectacularly ignored a truck and a bicycle as they surged across a road. Groupthink, ‘me first’ and headphones to blame. Reasonable accommodation fell – along with the cyclist – by the wayside.
Artificial light
Glittering goods
City folk
And ordinary bods
Expensive calories
And consumer excess
People walk at you
Through hunks of metal
Steel and glass
Artificial climate
Escalator rides
Look out the window
Drizzle outside
Holes in the ground
Building on every acre
A miracle of mammon
Flattening nature.
Every time I go to Canary Wharf I feel a strong sense of alienation. I had a meeting there today. I worked in Docklands when it was a building site, in the 1990s as Canary Wharf went up. On the face of it what’s not to like? Efficient high quality office and retail space on reclaimed land.
I can’t put my finger on it, but something feels wrong. It’s like a glossy ad or the guff you read in an in-flight magazine. Lifestyle, grooming, money, power and status and posh nosh. It lacks the class of New York or the crush of Hong Kong. A soulless place.
Sore throat
Pale face
Red-rimmed eyes
Barking cough
Hot and cold shivers
Downcast
Everyone else that is
Sympathy for the afflicted
A bit
But I’m the hypochondriac round here
What have I done not to deserve it?
Bonfire night
Kids delight
Fireworks popping
Rockets whooshing
People mingling
Sausages sizzling
Bonfire crackling
Children racing
Sparklers sputtering
Embers glowing
Kiddies tiring
Heading home
Hands holding
(Best sung to the ‘Raindrops on Roses’
Sound of Music melody)
Poised, sharp and twinkling,
So adult when speaking.
Bright as a button,
Self-confidence building.
Doing her homework
And passing her tests;
Flying at her new school
And giving her best.
List making, potions
And outraged-faced poses.
Climbing and hanging
And landing on noses.
Chess, stamps and boredom
And driving up walls;
These are a few of her favourite things.
When the pen drops,
When the door slams,
When her tea goes cold,
I simply remember she’s seven years old
And then I can’t be, but awed.
Achilles & Aristotle 