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.
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
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.
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.
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
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.
Like what you see?
You can subscribe to our writing tips, news and industry thoughts. No spam, just quality content, or your money back.
(Wait, it’s free. Never mind. But you can unsubscribe anytime.)