We're poets and our awareness of this is marked

On Friday we held our monthly creative team meeting at The Scoop, an ampitheatre next to City Hall in London.

On a damp, grey, overcast day we tried our hand at a spot of poetry.

We took inspiration from the American poet Frank O'Hara, specifically his poem called Poem – a list of observations he wrote down while walking to a poetry competition. To show how you can take inspiration from seemingly mundane situations, we all wandered off for ten minutes, and just scrawled what we saw.

Here's what we came up with:


Relax, refresh, talk, enjoy, fuel.

How, when you can’t get in?

The grey, swooping Scoop.

It’s not Roman, it’s London.

It’s not Greek, it’s bleak.

There’s no yoga here this morning.

There’s scaffolding, high viz, hard hats, glass, grey and steel.

And those little metal things they use on stone to stop skateboarders.

Why won’t they let them skate?

Maybe it’s only More London for those who relax, refresh, talk, enjoy, fuel.

By Ed

September 9th

They’ve finished painting Tower Bridge Bright blue against September grey

A Sightseeing Tour of London crosses, five tourists taunting the laden sky

The Mayor’s Darth Vader helmet looks out towards the rising Dalek

Let’s pray there’s no extermination

On this, the eve of 10 years later

By Anelia

This looks like it’s been written by a five year old

Metal map, men in yellow jackets.

A boat called the Lady Thames II

(I wonder what happened to I?).

White vans on Tower Bridge, The Ray Linge Marquee company.

Squashed by a Japanese man taking pictures,

Midgies in my face.

Joggers jogging, boat sponsored by NatWest.

Now I’m in the Japanese man’s picture.

Wet piece of paper, pen running out.

By Emma

We’re cleaning the river together

We’re cleaning the river together.

Every empty can of Foster’s. Every rainbow trout that’s floating,

upside down on top of the murky grey.

Seven seagulls stand on the Thames. Not the river. The rusty boat in the shadow of Belfast that seems to have the same colour as the sky. And the water.

Ionia passes by, pushing sand. Two piles of it. And behind it comes the next in a never ending line of City Cruises.

The origin of the Foster’s.

And probably the inverted trout too.

By Padders

Take it to the Bridge

I want it. God I want it. And I’m going to have it

Not sure where I’m going to put it

But I want it all the same

Don’t care what it costs

Actually no. Play it cool.

Try to knock them down. Oh just get it

The one with the towers?

Yes, the one in London London Bridge

If they want to sell it, just goes to show

Everyone has his price

Money speaks all languages

Even Limeys know that

The deal’s done, you say

That was quick

And they’re moving it for us too

Too kind. Jolly good. Silly fools

By Jan

Oh dear

On the bank of the river

Education is happening

And loos are for schoolchildren only

This art has been specially created

Like the bridge, specially built

And the Queen’s Walk with no Queen

And the smell of grass and autumn

Does the man in the mac and briefcase smell it?

Do the men in the high vis jackets smell it?

It’s a festival of metal hitting metal.

By Ana

0 min read, posted in Culture, by Admin, on 12 Sep 2011