Searching for inspiration.
I’m sitting a bridge wall over looking a canal, searching for inspiration.
I see the water flow below, grey dark and deep.
I wonder if there are trolls below.
People pulling trolleys loaded with boxes and bags,
pass by heading for the market stalls.
A man carrying milk another with oranges and lemons said the bells of St. Clements… no no that’s already been done.
preparing for a day of teas, coffees and squashes
Small drops of rain fall on to my paper
leaving grey marks between the pages.
Two men fight with a rail on wheels
Filled high with clothes and covered with throws.
Another stands and watches, smoking a fag.
As galloping stallions are frozen in stone .
Blacksmiths in bronze, with their uncompleted jobs
Shops and stools, dressed in red ,white and blue.
Which kinder stands out,
amongst all the black gothic cloths.
Security sit and drink a morning cup of tea,In their British red phone box made of four,
Over looking the canal where feather up stream,
I am sitting on a bridge wall over looking a canal, searching for inspiration.
As a fine mist of rain comes down.
Tourist walk by with their umbrella’s, hat, bags and macs
Still tacking photos snap, snap, flash and snap,
Getting in the way with their over grown maps.
Eight thirty on the spot, two geese over my head,
Making me flinch and duck as there so low.
“low flying duck” comes to mind as they miss my head
and land on the water flowing below, grey dark and deep.
In the distance I see rising from below,
A canal boat painter red, green black and gold,
With plant pots on top, a floating garden I see.
Rising up in the lock down stream from me.
I see the water flow below, grey dark and deep.
I wonder if there are trolls below.
I tear the page from my book
As the rain hammers down it falls in to the canal and is lost forever.
So while searching for inspiration on a bridge wall over a canal,
All I found was that I got a wet num arse!
© 2012 sarah patel
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