Aladdin’s Cove

Velvet, lace and leather dressed the walls and rails.  Smiles, coffee and an unfamiliar friendliness dressed the staff.

An Aladdin’s Cove away from the bitter cold that filled the outside streets.  Amongst the leather sofas, old newspapers and coffee bar, friends, colleagues and acquaintances gathered.  Laptops placed on an old wood table and coffee placed in hands the meeting would commence.

Passers-by who entered to browse were neither ignored nor invited in.  The meeting continued regardless of who lingered.  The feeling of intrusion was present.  As if you’d just stepped into someone’s warm welcoming living room whilst they were entertaining guests, and they haven’t realised you’re there and continue with their happiness.

Summer

It was a summer’s day, one of those days where everything’s that little bit brighter and the trees are swaying with the wind and it’s too hot to be wearing clothes or to do anything important.  She sat at her desk in an oversized t-shirt, cheeks and nose starting to freckle from the sun.  Her fingers (decorated with chipped navy varnish) drummed on the desk and her teeth (just whitened and slightly crooked) bit at her bottom lip leaving droplets of blood in the cracks.

They never forget

A Familiar Stranger

In the soft lighting of a quiet shop perfection seems in reach.  Peace overcomes as you browse with the other book-lovers, fingers stroking spines, discovering new titles, ones familiar and ones unfamiliar.

A hint of recognition flashes across another’s face, a part-smile, part-grimace dances across their lips and the grip in their hand tightens.

And so it starts; the obligatory, unwanted conversation.  The link in their lives provides little dry conversation.

In the cramped shop there is no place to escape.  You find yourselves browsing sidebyside, lusting after the same titles and occasionally brushing each other’s shoulders.  Eventually you spill your awkward excuses and hurtle towards the door.

Another piece of heaven destroyed

By a familiar stranger.

Party Piece – Brian Patten

Possibly my favourite poem …

He said:

‘Let’s stay here
Now this place has emptied
And make gentle pornography with one another,
While the partygoers go out
And the dawn creeps in,
Like a stranger.

Let us not hesitate
Over what we know
Or over how cold this place has become,
But let’s unclip our minds
And let tumble free
The mad, mangled crocodile of love.’

So they did,
There among the woodbines and guinness stains,
And later he caught a bus and she a train
And all there was between them then
was rain.

Wanderlust

Can you call that art?

They walk side by side, hands tangled in one another and cameras hanging around crooked necks.  Pausing at painting after painting, heads tilted.

“I’m not sure you can call this one art.”

“Art isn’t how it used to be, dear.”

How things must have changed from when they were younger.  I wonder if they visited art galleries when they first started courting.  Is it a tradition of theirs or are they just conforming to tourists of London? Hard to tell.

I continue to trail their footsteps, engrossed in their happiness and confusion.  It must be strange to watch the world change, to grow old, to watch the one you love grow old. To watch art and culture change with the modern world.   

They circle, looking at things they’ve already seen, saying things they’ve already said. I want to see the world through the eyes of the elderly, but never grow old.  They seem happy. But confused.

Inspiration

Overheard

Inspired by observations made on Bermondsey Street in London.

Amongst the cars, the bikes and the people stood a couple.  Apart from the crowd yet blending in so seamlessly.  Cheeks red from the biting cold, eyes dewy from the fierce December wind and lips frantic with whispered words.

At closer glance their troubles seem so obvious.  As he shakes away her grip and her whole body sighs.  Their argument is conducted through tight whispers and carefully constructed words.  They knew each other well, this was clear through the sting they found in each returning sentence.

As time went by they became less aware of the street around them, less conscious of who could hear and their tones became less hushed.  As if aware of being watched they slowed down again, quietened each other and took a step back.

They went to part, but as if an invisible cord attached them sprung back.  Back to comfort, back to the familiar.  It was a few more desperate sentences before they went their separate ways.

A long lingering hug, a kiss on the cheek and they reluctantly untangled their hands from each other’s messes and walked to two new futures.  Tears stung by failed attempts and hearts heavy from the last goodbye.