Friday, 8 July 2016


I am just back from a trip to Portland in Oregon, a place I have wanted to visit for a long time. This post consists of a sequence of poems I wrote while over there.

First impressions Portland

On his head a Hydra hat,
metallic, chrome green sheen.
The seven snakes bob
as he twirls on his right heel,
paper barista coffee cup,
in his left hand.
He fills the sidewalk,
that's the pavement to me,
just off the plane and taking it all in.
Perspective may come tomorrow.

after colluding with the weather app the rain outsmarts me

however as I am not made of salt or sugar I will not melt

nor be in anyway diluted by the rain dripping off my nose

The man on the checkout
of the cooperative, organic food store,
nails my accent in one,
then narrates his two year drama degree
in London,
in somewhat non-committal terms.
Then to Hollywood
where he was up against electricians from Bradford,
guys from Ipswich, who really fancied their chances.
Every English wannabe!
Our transaction is completed
before I can listen to the next instalment.

Nearly 8am, looks like rain, a couple are packing their lives in to a suitcase, they cross the road to cross the square, I notice a book in her hand entitled Hope.
I do not want to make these poems into some sort of journal of my time in Portland. They are simply impressions. 
I leave you with The Decemberists.
Until next time.

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