Thursday, April 19, 2012

The Shard, 19 April 2012

A spark of metal,
driven up from below,
scratching the sky with a witchy fingernail, grey.
Cranes cling to the side like skeletal kings Kong,
inching their way up and looking down on us all.
Muddy, builder's tea coloured clouds
obscure the point, the apex, the top;
swallowing it up in a large-scale vanishing act.
The clawing windows yearn for sun,
to glint the rays back off itself and
into open plan offices in its view,
giving hope and life, and light.
But not today.
It is shrouded, buried deep in a fog of brown sky,
its widest point, the base, all we can see.
It is a giant's impression of hide and seek,
and as the rain hammers on our
smooth and faceless buildings,
we forget it is there, and go back to our computer screens,
and back to talking about the weather,
and think about making tea.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

To London #2

This is in response to my original poem To London.

You said you'd change.
You promised me.
We talked it over,
talked it through, talked it out.
I thought we could work through it, and be happy again.
But you went back on your word.
Now, the thought of being in your company
sickens me so much
I really think I want to leave you.
My thoughts are occupied with walking away;
walking to the coast and not looking back.
It's not the same; I'm not a teenager anymore,
dazzled by your lights.
You're not the hero I thought you were.
Why was I so impressed with you?
You bawled,
ranted and raved,
and hollered your greatness through
megaphones and cymbals,
and I was hypnotised.
Then I grew up.
Work got in the way of us.
Did I become jaded? You're certainly ok.
You're at your best,
your peak; thriving.
We just want other things, and right now,
I do not want you.
You don't need me.
I need distance, space;
air of my own.
I know you won't change,
so this is my honesty.
This just isn't right; you're not for me.