Kathryn's profile

London Fields

Written by Kathryn Marchbank on Tuesday the 6th of January 2015
As one
crowd of morning crows parade a tamed patch of grass rich gravity


The same
blackened horde might loosen in the leafed privacy of their evening folly


To steal
the last glance of sun as it nakedly blinks,


Upon a
striptease of bark and lichen;


A reminder
to redecorate


But they
contemplate such wisdoms that posthumously echo an afternoon at King Henry's
hunt.


Below their
Belsen, noble roots lead as a sweeping staircase to the penthouse suite,


To a tree
top mansion that now speaks contemporary east London.


A dog
chastised by his absent leg, finds balance

While
scratching a coiffed hair rump,


Then bounds
unwitting, among chequer board turf prints,


Barbequed
upon a gown of spring summer twenty ten.


And descend
the pride of Hackney creatives

Holding
court in fashion's harlequin masks


Breathing
air distilled by wine and beer


They
collect such days in their pockets,


To revive
energies, lack lustre


Throughout
the winter year


One of few,
there travels a lamplighter of a differing style


Not secure
of source, electric or gas


They
neither old, and neither young


Gather on
the broad avenue in regular throng


To hula and
hoop

In spinning
stripes and hologram