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Showing stories tagged with #urban-observation Clear filter
I visit the same newsagent I see my mate Sanjay We have a chat about this and that And then I'm on my way Next door there's a charity shop Outside there are some bags Filled with things good people...
In a city where twisted steel and poured concrete as well as nature collide, I am always moved by the feeling of pride when a single act of humanity exists.
I stand in a street surrounded by people in black and grey. Black satchels, black coats, black gloves, black shoes. Grey trousers. Their faces are grey from stress.
When you lock eyes with a stranger, your worlds connect. Even though you may never see each other again you still entered the others world. Became a piece of a memory not remembered.
Sitting on a train. Going nowhere. Fields whizzing by. So much out there. Face pressing against glass. People watching all that pass. Daily commuters tapping on their laptop computers.
#household. The 'Bowl', or style of walking. Applies to everyone. Matching 'bowling' to its owner. Can be a lot of fun. My favourite is the 'fruit bowl'. Not too hard to spot.
I sit, Face pressed against the glass, Watching cars and people pass. I sit, Staring at streets down below, It's all just go, go, go. I sit, Gazing at the sky, Wishing I could fly.
Looking around, I'm shocked to see, Inside these cars, Are people like me. Although different, We are the same, So I watch them, They don't have names.
I love people watching, there is nothing that gives me greater pleasure than to sit in my local costa and watch people - well ok there is but for the sake of this rambling there isn't.
Standing under this umbrella,. Heart beating,. Waiting for a fella,. I look out at the square,. People running quickly in the rain,. Shoulders hunched as if in pain,. Everybody's in such a rush,.
Stepping out of my house. I know you've been there. I can see your marks, On every cemented square.
Looking out my window I see a strange man. With beard and flip flops shouting at a parked van. It's 10 degrees but he's in shorts and vest. Now I like strangeness but he's putting me to the test.
A stranger passes you on the street. You both look each others way. Sometimes you simply feel nothing. Sometimes you feel connected somehow. I love to just people watch.
So I went for a jog this morning by the Thames. As the burning in my chest became almost unbearable, I paused for a smoke. (Yes I smoke after excercise and I'm generally counterproductive).
Nothing sends a platform of commuters into a cowering panic of fear and trepidation more than a bit of rain.
Inspiration can come in several ways. Sometimes there's nothing for 3 or 4 days. No words or poems, no lyrics or rhymes. Though I look at my notepads hundreds of times.
Folks I wrote a verse the other day called Rangerover, and I'm afraid I have to shamelessly direct you to this piece in order to appreciate this small tale. Done that. Good.
On a train to Liverpool from home Sat here typing on my phone Beautiful lady reading a book Dirty old men just having a look.
Is it me or does everyone own a range rover these days.
I'm not quite sure how to describe it, so I'll just call it a habit. I can't remember how it started but I also don't seem to be able to stop it.
I became aware that the swarm of undead that bimble around the shopping centre had found something to interest them. Someone had tried rob Carphone Warehouse.