Richard Pierce

Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter

Life, Poetry


West London, very early morning, the sun
Only just above the mews, the main
Streets quiet, and only one smashed
Glass by the pub opposite the knocked
Down warehouses, vacant plot, to
Hint at this city’s demonic nights
And nature where the dark swallows
And absorbs all sins and excesses,
When the sun caresses the air that’s
Surprisingly fresh and clear and
Miraculously bloodless after what
Went before. A thousand strees,
A million stories.

R 18/05/2023 20:39

Two showers in one day. The place I stayed last night in London was very hot, so I jumped into the shower as soon as my 5 hours of sleep were done. Then, after I got back to Norwich, I walked from the station home with my heavy backpack (got a nice surprise when I bumped into A about two thirds of the way home, and she walked back with me) – by the time I got home, my shirt was dripping wet. At least I felt like I’d achieved something.

I did wander through some mews and empty streets in West London this morning on my way to get myself a croissant from a supermarket. I like London at that time of day, so quiet and innocent in certain ways, and certainly without much traffic away from the dual carriageways that suffocate the place. Part of me didn’t want to come home, to be honest, but would rather have lingered in some hidden parks and corners and buildings.

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