XLIX
After Sonnet 66 (the angry one with lots of “and”s)
Tired of all these, for deathly rest I moan,
coining off my days like duff scratchcards,
& travelcards are void in distant zones
& oven chips & posh shops snare our bards
& airwaves sag with karaoke waifs
& tabloids thrive on xenophobia
& masterpieces fade in tycoons’ safes
& HD screens create myopia
& youtube doggeralists reap all the clicks
& bankers spend a nurses wage in bars
& oceans froth with spillages and slicks
but I’d endure them if the fates allow
my wife and child to sleep another hour.
L
Shakespeare invited
death at the beginning of
his sonnet. I pass.
LI
The sun peers back
through glinting morning haze
finally eclipsing the dead glow
of my laptop screen
LII
A lone car crosses
paths with a man in high vis
on Waterloo Bridge
LIII
I missed sunset,
Waterloo Bridge paradise,
this sunrise will do.
LIV
A rage at the world
dissipates with the ebb
of my caffeine buzz.
Thoughts of loved ones bloom.
LV
Oh London,
if I wasn’t so busy with this task
I might have caught you sleeping.
LVI
Though I miss looking on
the ones I love this morning
the rising sun reveals a complexion
that I haven’t known from this city for too long.
LVII
I count twelve cranes across the skyline
immobile, hooks spooled up,
after tools were downed on Friday.
I love conceit of “the clock strikes six”-it appeals to the part of me that’s been lying in bed trying to ignore my child since five.
I love “the clock strikes six”-it appealed to the part of me that’s been lying in bed ignoring my son since five. Brilliant and angry and desperate and funny too.
Reblogged this on MumHighs&Lows and commented:
Why bother write your own posts when others say it so brilliantly