THE PECKHAM RAMBLER
The Peckham rambler treads with a light touch,
surprising given the heavy burden he projects,
but then appearances can be deceptive.
I see him moving steadfastly towards the library.
He doesn’t strike me as the intellectual type,
but I have been wrong many times before.
Perhaps he is hoping for a gratis newspaper to study the horses,
or maybe he will read, a complicated and jargon heavy Science journal;
it’s too easy to pass judgement,
but then life gives us a keen eye for personality.
Perhaps we should trust our judgement!
I see him regularly standing outside the pub, drawing heavily on his cigarette.
He appears thoughtful and absorbent, like a sponge soaking up bathwater.
In his royal blue T-shirt and faded stonewash jeans,
he’s like a throwback to an era which I can’t define and probably never existed.
I like this man a great deal, he reminds me of someone, maybe even myself.
I long for engagement, to shoot the breeze in a leisurely fashion. I believe I can learn a lot.
I see him rambling towards his humble abode; another day in Paradise gone!
Canary Wharf
Immense structures towering high yet gentle and reassuring,
their retro look disguises an urban beast.
Looking from Greenwich, they seem so close but distant.
A partition in place, a separation of industry and the natural world.
I look almost fearfully from my calm green vista wondering what chaos ensues there,
relieved it’s a Sunday.
Cool and vibrant, it smacks of the modern world, and has an originality unbridled.
I peer through a birch tree to catch another glance, what a majestic sight!
CAMBERWELL GREEN
Camberwell Green, where urban meets suburban,
frantic crossroads and compromised air makes you crave a fresher feel.
Homes old and new, some dilapidated and some proud,
But each with a story to tell;
I catch a tower block out of the corner of my eye,
a menacing powerful structure,
and a reminder that we can’t all live in a sprawling green heaven.
The shops bustle and the crowded pavements provoke irritation.
There’s people from all over the world, a reminder of community or a lack of it.
The grinding noise of frequent London buses and the impersonal, callous looks as I march through the streets
sets this place out as something different, but only on the veneer.
I dander a few more yards past the hospital where the screech of trains greets me.
Functional and gritty, they stride along the tracks laboured and uneventful.
I continue to proceed, and after a lung awakening climb up a curious hill,
I realise I’m nearly home!