Dear Neighbours

Dear Neighbours,
We were kept awake again
Last night until half two am
Due to noise that seemed to emanate
From your walled garden near.

Dear Neighbours,
We live in close proximity
Thus any noise between our homes
Travels too easily and reverberates
Off brick, through window to collective ear.

Dear Neighbours,
We would be grateful if
Out of kind consideration and respect
You would please ensure that all of your
Late gatherings are strictly kept indoors.

Dear Neighbours,
Perhaps after midnight during weeks
And weekends after one am
You might consider keeping quiet
To permit your weary neighbours sleep?

Dear Neighbours,
This is not the first time
We have had to most politely request
That the constant noise levels are reduced.
We really really need our rest.

Dear Neighbours,
Can you have failed to notice
Hot summer requires windows left ajar
Thus we can hear all the noise you make
Whilst attempting futile dormir.

Dear Neighbours,
We are truly tired
And quite fed up of losing sleep
We will consider calling enforcements
If your noisiness does not soon cease.

Turtle Dream

It was the turtle that did it
Last night (just now) in my dream
He was wandering nonchalantly, or so it seemed,
Along a country road, with huge cars whizzing by
Somehow managing to miss his sturdy little body
As they sped on their way over him.

I sat and watched in amazement, until
- What am I doing, lying here in the hot sun
Sketching drawings, watching the turtle
Waiting for surely imminent death by squashing?

I got up and 'rescued' the turtle
Picked it up off the road
And brought it back to my workspace
Placed it down amidst the notebooks and pens
Watched it find its feet in the new environment.
I photographed it with my camera
Snap after snap of wrinkly turtle head
Eyes staring back at me, expectant?
Or annoyed? Perhaps I'd moved him
From an essential journey. His life's journey.
Perhaps he was on the road he was meant to travel.

Not any more, or, infact, yes, still on the road
Just a different view, different surrounds, philosophy
Different experiences from the one he'd gotten used to
Over, however long he'd been travelling on the road.

I put the photographed steps together
In a row. I sketched them. Fragments
of a life; a being; a moment;
Each one on its own, yet joined to the next
By an invisible thread.

It was the turtle that did that.

The Rescue

Did I rescue the turtle or did it rescue me?

I lay nonchalantly watching until woken from my stupor.
By what?

By the realisation that I had more meaningful purpose in life than lying in the sun making drawings?
By realising that if I didn't help the turtle escape death, perhaps no-one would?

If not me, then who?
If not now, then when?

It was my duty to rescue the other life.
From what?

From cessation of life?
It was my duty to preserve life.

In so doing, I changed lives.
The turtle's life was changed.
My life was changed. I now 'had' a turtle to protect, to nurture, to find a home for, to release.

Your life has changed. You now know about the turtle because you're reading these words.
These words tell you how the turtle changed my life and I changed the turtle's.

I am the turtle.
And the road.
And the cars whizzing by.

I am the sunlight burning my skin
I am my skin.

I am the page on which I write.
I am the pen with which I sketch.
The camera lens that peers and captures and stores.

I am the turtle.
And I am me.
And so are you.

Bank Station, Monday

Peace in the city
Small haven amidst metropolis traffic.
A bus driver angrily beeps his horn.
Street cleaners ferociously spray
Unnamed liquid at chewing gum marks
On the pavement.

City workers amble by
Ascending from, descending into
Bank underground station.

JH Greathead stands tall to my left
Perusing his plans.
Chief Engineer of City & South London Railway,
Inventor of the travelling shield
Enabling deep level tube
By tunnel cutting.

Wellington sits yonder
On horseback.
A memorial still and grandiose.

Pretty girl in cap and skirts
Talks effusively on mobile phone
Drawing attention from the street cleaners
And other nearby men.

The girls glance up and smile knowingly
To each other. Pride or jealousy?
Mere observation?

Two police officers stroll past
Playing with their radios.
The sun beats down
Upon hot denim clad knees.

Two flags wave listless in bored breeze.
Buses thunder by.
People sitting near like me
Leaning against ancient stone
Chatter or in solitude
Never alone in our city.

The ghosts of London past
London present, London future,
Hover, amble, lie and lean
Rush past, sit quietly, watching,
Always watching as time floats round.