The Bookshop

The Bookshop

The colours of rainbows,

All stacked along straight rows,

Feeling my hairs stand right up on my skin,

I'm in a bookshop, and I never want to leave here.

The pages they call me, 

Call for my attention,

Feeling the weight of each one in my hands,

I'm in a bookshop, and I never want to leave here.

That soft little crackle,

These bindings so detailed,

Markings of readers from times of before,

I'm in a bookshop, and I never want to leave here.

From fiction to sci-fi,

The ink fills my neurons,

Smells like a kitchen much food for my mind,

I'm in a bookshop, and I never want to leave here.

So many to witness,

The keepers of magic,

Friends of these words and they want you to share

I'm in a bookshop, and I never want to leave here.

It's time to close this page,

Will open tomorrow,

I know that I'll find something special in here,

I'm in a bookshop, and I never want to leave here.

Explaination

So, I have a confession to make. I'm actually not a particularly big reader, but I came across a blog post the other day. It was so beautifully written that I decided to do this poem. Here's the specific blog post from "The bookshop around the corner" which I would highly recommend reading, regardless of whether you're a reader or not. The blogger's passion for her hobby can only be admired. Oh, and of course, I had a little inspiration too from Mr Knopfler after listening to this song.

Fusilier Lee Rigby

Fusilier Lee Rigby

With courage that we shall never know,

You came to defend your country,

In times of joy the sticks came out,

You sounded the notes of your passion,

But then in a moment we shall never forget,

Your life and your soul was taken from us,

We were so sorry that upon your return

We could not keep you safe from harm,

In thousands they came to visit that site,

Laid flowers, paid tributes, because this is right,

Today some weeks on we lay you to rest,

I didn't know you yet somehow I miss you,

I miss you because you touched people's lives,

Showed us how to be brave keep calm and carry on,

Your little boy he will grow up strong,

He has our support and knew a great man

Sleep well, Lee,

We will remember you.

Be mine...

Be mine...

My eyes shall tell you all that you need to know,

These heavy waters alone you shall not have to row,

My phone lights up, I hear there's a beep,

I now feel so happy, another that I shall keep,

So come now take my hand and come away with me,

We'll build a life together my love, just wait and you shall see,

You know that I will be there for you,

We're in this together, a tough team, me and you,

Sometimes we'll cry, but lots we shall giggle,

That little thing you do I'll give you a wiggle,

You think I'm making breakfast, I kinda sorta am,

It's taking me a while cos there's flowers with your jam,

This journey we're on we'll sail it together,

When I'm with you there's sunshine in my weather.

Explanation

No explanation here. It's just general musings on what it means to me to be in a strong, healthy, long term relationship. (not that I'm in one at the mo by the way....but please form an orderly queue ladies.)

The Routemasters

The Routemasters

A choreographed dance, though timing may stray,

These big red carriages through night time to day,

Carrying the blood throughout all its veins

They have their own place in their little lanes,

You know there's a pulse, they make its heart beat,

So follow the yellow brick road and hear that thing peep,

All ages, religions and cultures and creeds,

Reminding us all that "Londoner" 's our breed,

So next time you're on one just think where you are,

You're on a Routemaster each driven by a star.

Explanation

I'm really taken with "The Route Masters: Running London's Roads" at the moment. It's a documentary on BBC showing how London's public transportation system is kept running. Tonight showed the dedicated work of the drivers of the night time bus routes. Man, they really do put up with a lot of stuff, but pretty much every time, they'll get you to where you need to and we should thank them for that. Without them, a lot of people would be stuck. They do sometimes have a reputation as being not very nice, but perhaps it's because they don't feel respected. I would suggest we give them a little more and see how things change.

Exposure

Exposure

Well today we go play Russian roulette folks,

For fear we're about to seek and provoke,

Feels like today tomorrow and probably the next,

Six chambers are loaded, BUT determination 's flexed,

Walking opened eyed right into the lion's den,

I know that I must do this again and again,

Upon the horizon the clouds they do build,

With darkness and thunder they clearly are filled,

The drum beats do quicken, they get louder too,

But screw you anxiety, no seriously, screw you!,

The world spins round like I'll fall to the ground,

But must have the confidence that I shall not drown,

The beast of tightness comes and smothers 'round my throat,

For this to stop now, please, I hereby do vote,

Through all of this I know I must last,

Because this is what I choose, a new me I shall cast.

Explanation

I'm not going to say too much about this, except to say I'm currently undergoing "exposure therapy" for a particular anxiety issue. I believe tackling it will be extremely challenging (well I know it is), but I also believe it will make me a better and in the long run, a happier person (yes I know that's hard to believe..."Better?! But Phil, you're already the best!"). There is lots to do to where I want to get to....and the above is what it feels like to me, both in terms of how unbelievably horribly horrifically terrifyingly difficult it feels -- but also how much determination I must have to get to a better place. To quote Churchill, "Oh no no no no no".....wait, wrong Churchill. I mean this one. "If you're going through hell, keep going".

Sunbathing Moon

Sunbathing Moon

Middle of the month it shall come soon,

Prepares for her dance a beautiful new moon,

Comes about this little new-born,

Craters show a life that's well-worn,

Each day she will grow in strength,

Keeping an eye on the focal length,

Now she is so bright, lets give her a wave,

She sits there proudly in her sunbathe,

Now as the month it draws to a close,

We bid her farewell before we all doze.

A Prayer for Bostonians

A Prayer for Bostonians

The spring sun shines,

As the finish line signs,

Visitors, compatriots,

A day of the patriots,

At 4 hours 9 and 43 seconds

A flash in the corner and noise they do beckon,

Fall down to the ground,

All muffled are sounds,

The shrieking the blood and the masses of tears,

Ran right to your help left behind all their fears,

So scared and so scarred,

For your life no regard,

But to them we do say,

No this wasn't your day,

Because together we rise,

'Cos our kindness flies high.

Poetry in Street View

Poetry in Street View

Rising up from depths far beyond,

This concrete carpet is dotted with ponds,

Arrow or circle and sometimes square,

It's time for my fingers to have an affair,

Setting off with slightly blurred vision,

To go left or right is all my decision,

In a moment the seasons do change,

This colourful map of many things strange,

Dispelling the myth about what is there,

A world of cultures seen here from your chair,

Then there's just the plain old weird,

A sight for which this must be revered,

Reminders of times gone by,

The whole planet is now nearby.

Explanation


I'm not going to write an explanation for this one. However, I do suggest that you navigate around in Street View for some time and let these words mean something to you. Here's a starting point. Here is your starting point.

Delivering the News

Delivering the news

At dawn we rise in hand come alive,

A big yellow bag to command and to drive,

The sun calls me up to Wentworth Road,

Sometimes she's walked and sometimes she's rode,

From times to telegraph to people and mail,

Filled with supplements and gadgets for sale,

First it's the teacher so best be behaved,

Then the Dulux dog and a pat and a wave,

Onto the man who gets the big three,

I still wonder what we'd done unto he,

Their memory lives on these three little streets,

Delivering the words on Shelley, Tennyson and Keats.

Explanation


Like many kids in their mid teens, I had a paper round. I just did mine on a Sunday, so this is about my memories of that.

At dawn we rise in hand come alive,
A big yellow bag to command and to drive,

This refers to waking up early (very early for a teenager), after the alarm beeps. Get up dressed, and out the door with the yellow delivery bag that would be my friend for this morning.

The sun calls me up to Wentworth Road,
Sometimes she's walked and sometimes she's rode,

To get from my house to the newsagents where I had to pick up my papers, I had to walk up Wentworth road, which during the summer, on a clear morning would have the sun beaming down it, as if it was guiding me towards my destination. Sometimes I went on foot, sometimes I used my bike.

From times to telegraph to people and mail,
Filled with supplements and gadgets for sale,

This is about the big Sunday papers that people would get, often filled with extra Sunday supplement with catalogues offering weird and wonderful gadgets for the home.

First it's the teacher so best be behaved,
Then the Dulux dog and a pat and a wave,

On my round, I had to deliver to a house where a teacher from my school lived (Mrs Selwood should she ever come across this....oh and thanks for the Christmas tip!). Then I had to go onto a house, where they had a huge dog, just like the one in the Dulux paint adverts. I was terrified of the thing the first few times I did it, but I soon realised it was just a big lovable thing who wanted a bit of a tickle.

Onto the man who gets the big three,
I still wonder what we'd done unto he,

I remember there was one man who got the three big Sunday papers. They were the Sunday Times, Sunday Telegraph and Observer. Huge things they were. Why he needed to get all three, I've no idea. I often wonder whether he'd hated paper boys or something and this was he way of causing us pain - to make us carry all this paper.

Their memory lives on these three little streets,
Delivering the words on Shelley, Tennyson and Keats.

Three of the streets that I delivered to were named after three great posts, Shelley, Tennyson and Keats. It's quite nice, and warming that I'm writing a poem about my paper round, which just so happened to include deliveries to these streets.

Spring

Spring

I came upon these fields of green,

All neatly mowed and looking pristine,

The yellow sea beneath my eyes,

I see the waves they fall and rise,

The choir continues to sing out their hymns,

Disco lights bounce off our needy white limbs,

The colours so vibrant a true painter's mix,

A bridge in the centre a launch for poohsticks,

A breeze arrives and gently caresses,

In front of me shows nature's successes,

This symphony of colour aloud,

I wandered lonely as a cloud.

Explanation


I'm going to leave off writing an explanation for this one. It's basically about spring having arrived. I'm imagining sitting in a park, such as St James's Park or Regent's Park in London, with all the warmth and colour being present. A resounding victory by nature to bring back life after we've had to hide away our weak British skin for the winter. Please take this as a way to create a vision of spring for you.