Richard Pierce

Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter

Life, Poetry

Day 132

London. Early morning. An aeroplane overhead every couple of minutes. I do remember it being like this, when I did this regularly every other month, being away from home overnight because meetings went on late and it was more time-effective to stay here and work late and then early again the next morning to get everything out of the way rather than catch a train home and not get back till 1 or 2 a.m. The irony, this time round, and it’s the irony of a luxury gone, is that I found out yesterday that my favourite cafe just down the road, which stayed open throughout the lockdowns, actually closed down a month ago, so I will need to find somewhere else to get a pastry and some coffee for my breakfast. See what I mean about luxury? I am one of the lucky ones, right now.

I scribbled this down last night:



26 months
and out into the wild again
swathes of maskless
pushing against the current
a river of people

i miss home
the quiet claustrophobia
of it and its predictability
regular bed times
no chance of excess

open skies
above the london streets
traffic gone now deeper
than before life was
locked down for good reason

too late
too little
too now
too quick
too economic
with the truth

i miss home
the comfort of the hated
sofa the wine in
the fridge the tea
the others drink

this is an empty crowd
here in a london back street
the moon gone from the
relatable pic i was about
to take

all this movement
it’s too much




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  1. Simone Silvestroni

    13th May 2022 at 10:22

    Totally loved the little poem. Kind of tempted about turning it into a song.

    1. Richard Pierce

      13th May 2022 at 12:14

      Feel free to do so. Best compliment I can have about words of mine. Just remember to credit me πŸ™‚ Oh, and a share of the profits when it’s a global hit πŸ˜‰ Hope all’s well with you. R

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