Hard in this country to be further from sand and sea
Or rather further from sea and sand
Hard, or it used to be
To be nearer to steel and blacking
Or further from bragging
About the need to steal
Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
Hard in this country to be further from sand and sea
Or rather further from sea and sand
Hard, or it used to be
To be nearer to steel and blacking
Or further from bragging
About the need to steal
I stopped
I wondered if you'd slipped, tripped applying the silver foil
Struck me as lazy to have misplaced the rubber stamp
Manicured streets, trim cut paper; stripes in a city of stripes
Yet hardly a blue
Which I know to some in this city, is no colour at all
I've saved you until last
You were the nosiest
Having a ball
Your rhythms & your voices
Clever
Televisions flickering
Synchronized with soul
Northern music
Northern re-generation
Only because you were on the long wall
Otherwise you did nothing for me
Nothing at all
Tick tock - stop
Please everybody slow down
Let's begin with a whisper
Tip - top, slow-down, stop
A pin point balance, rocking to and fro
The metronome swings towards home
Its shade travels ever so slight behind
For now it is the afterglow