URBAN CONTRASTS

URBAN CONTRASTS

“They said it changes when the sun goes down. Around here”.

I love the city mid-morning, rush hour over, and a sense of calm before the lunch-time chaos. It’s the time when you can see the ‘place’, my ‘place’, getting a wipe, getting tidied after the ‘night before’, my ‘night before’.

The feeling of money being spent, lost, made, earned – it makes the city spin like the big wheel. Mid-day and the people come out to play, hungry, social and awake – different to what they looked like in the morning on the way to work. Queuing, laughing, chatting, or quiet, they make up streams of fluid humanity, a ‘right old’ mix of characters, all with their own problems.

Class is visible. The better, more expensive restaurants housing the designer clothed professionals and business entrepreneurs, the bourgeoisie; the sandwich bars and cafes playing host to the ‘rest’ – your average man/woman of the street, the proletariat.

The posh hotels are great places to see how the other half live – well it’s not actually the other ‘half’ more like the other 8.3% who own 94.7% of the wealth, and it’s nice to see them looking happy – I wish they would say thank you every so often.

‘Whose streets, our streets’ We wish But many times we’ve tried And failed To take them To make them Our streets

There’s a distortion after dark, a corruption, a fluorescent falsity, a time when the nocturnal come out to scavenge, to scrape and irritate, to spoil and annoy, to hurt and destroy – and there are many willing victims to feed upon.

            “A pint of lager please” I request.

I have done this a million times. I know what’s coming after: more of the same, my own distortion, my own sense of being somewhere, a place ‘close’ to mine, nearby, adjacent, juxtaposed.

           “Same again, and a large scotch please”.

Happier now and because I’ve been round the block a few times, I’m ok, not in danger, I’ll be ok, but someone might not be.

There’s a few arseholes in here I don’t like, staring, whispering – you know, they’re all paranoid.

The sound is jumbled. The sight is blurred. The pavement is closer to my head. I’m still ok. Still know what I’m doing. Where I’m going... I’m going to vomit

“And they wanted to be men
And do some fighting in the street
(They said) no surrender
No chance of retreat”.


It’s mid-morning, pissing down in this shithole, god save me from another fuckin day feeling crap all day, clock-watching till it’s time for a drink.

THIS       PLACE        SUCKS.

How much ya got? Not enough pal... now fuck off.

Does it really? Yeah, it’s all about fuckin money... property... the haves and have-nots.

d it glows all night”

If you have ever been in the city at dawn, I mean a really early summer dawn with a clear sky and fresh cool air, you will have smelt the newness, seen the clarity. It always seems to me that there is forgiveness in the air, an understanding of our weaknesses, and a reasoning of our mistakes. If you walk in and out of the long early morning shadows that are cast across our streets you will go cold and warm as you go; dark to light, like some sort of epiphany, but only if you’re listening and aware of the possibilities, you’ll know that life can be good with a clear head. It isn’t just the city’s fault; some of the fault is ours.

  Why can’t I get out of my city?

Can you, or you, maybe you?

Why don’t I like the countryside?

Thatched roofs and picket fences?

Others do, do you, or you?

Can my city get out of me?

Does it ever try? Oh my?

Am I a prisoner? Another number six?

Or am I the warden?

Would I escape if I could?

Would you, or you, all of you?

Modernity has changed this place. Yeah, you have to be this old to know it. Well actually, it’s America mainly that has changed this place... and others... most others... thanks yanks... but no thanks.

Stick your ‘have a nice day’ where it don’t shine... nostalgia eh? You have to don’t ya... but, as Billy said “the good old days weren’t always good, and tomorrow aint as bad as it seems.”

Divine materialism rules ok. Every place looks the same... the MacDonalds ideal, but you could say dogma... dictating to you, what you NEED... oh yes, you will need it, because THEY  won’t stop till you do need it, as and when and where they say you will.

Well, if you ask me, it makes you wanna rage against IT...

STRUCTURE, you say... you want STRUCTURE in this poetry, you wanna see what ‘structures’ they’ve built out there... they’re a bit more important... fuckin hideous...’town & country planning’ my arse... you couldn’t make some of that shit up... you should be out on the streets letting the bastards know... shouting ‘STOP PUTTING US IN BOXES THAT CAUSE MORE TROUBLE THAN THEY SOLVE’