The Artist's City
…of streets walked on still,
taken in by looks and glances that create
more than a memory - but a
gallery revered for years to come.
Of the skyline rising and falling like a
heart monitor, painted passionately red and
tinted orange from crushed autumn leaves;
the city’s fluid backbone muddied
and sludged and smudged by fingertips themselves
crafted and carved from bark in Regent’s Park;
a jewel, a diamond in a crown that sparkles in
a frame held by proud hands and tall chimes that
paint reminders of time across Victorian pebbles.
Of that ‘implacable November weather’ so loved
by Dickens. The cold air now water-coloured
against New Year explosions of kaleidoscopic palates
and clean canvases and annual additions
to the portfolio of a capital.
So, trace your hands back across each painting;
turn each image to reveal another take and
dash after brush after stroke after flick of
War of the Roses paint and Industrial Revolution charcoal
or the pencil of a Globe’s playwright with
the oil of underground tracks below the
Mache moulds of those streets walked upon still…
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