Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 220211
the crane holds effortlessly over from behind
the houses and trees cables thrumming always
cold and eventually it will all be dismantled;
the diesel car purred slowly downhill, a pigeon
dropped down behind it walked around a bit;
through the leaf-clean branches of the young
tree the Edwardian cornices and tops along
Plumstead Common Road, don’t collect thoughts,
t a s t e them without notice, deep and wet
with no tice – much less effort – while walking,
every once in a while the wall steps up a brick
I search for being clear again … step, while
walking stop, and breathe the beauty, stop
and smile a little thought for you; in St. Mary
Magdalene’s ground the mother has turned
points to the trees, birds fly off and land, the
toddler steps and stands among the pigeons
while the mother brings the abandoned scooter
but then in New Road holding the handshake
shaking between exchange the firm friends
look at each other only occasionally; while he
he Had a coffee heated sandwich iced bun
crisps water £8.89, busses passing bulbous
over the dark green and hanging shade; up
the hill on the coldstreet stepping downhill
out the newsagent the bright blue padded
jacket and the single bounce of a well-inflated
basketball with simultaneous echo inside; the
while on a wall opposite his Mum’s flat dead
almost 12 years now watching a boy with a limp
and the 53 bus working between parked cars
and the crossing island with air suspension
and when it was quiet the dark coat and white
trainers crossed the road paused and into the
newsagents but then I didn’t see where she
went; the constant echo of boys’ voices playing
football on Plumstead Common off Acacia
Terrace 1890; and I can’t see 46 Eglinton Hill
where I’m sat, conifers grow so quick, but
`doesn’t matter, I can’t see the blackbird singing
a different collect each time either; crows on the
chimneys of 40/38; for a minute the blackbird
stopped no vehicles uphill downhill, lights
went on across the river and each house had
the face of lifetimes in their windows;
Every year and a while I travel 40 miles up to Woolwich, where I grew up, to check that the journey I make started off in the write direction (HA!); while wandering I write, leaning on peoples’ front walls and making a coffee last in a cafe (and every once in a while I treat myself to an afternoon bench); walking downhill from Plumstead to Woolwich and around and back, in time; those who know Woolwich and Plumstead (all none of you across the world wide, as far as I can tell, although you have got Google maps, if you’re really interested) will [be able to] recognise as they appear: South Circular coming up to Well Hall roundabout, Eglinton Hill [childhood home], Plumstead Common Road, St Mary Magdelene’s Church, Woolwich New Road, [along A206], Waverley Crescent (top of Griffin Road), Plumstead Common (proper), back up Eglinton Hill …
————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–
birds wormhole: open window
blackbird & change wormhole: relief
blue wormhole: low afternoon
branches wormhole: between
breathing & coffee shop & evening & sound & time & windows wormhole: amid
bus wormhole: Mark & Jon at the coffee shop III
cars & green & trees wormhole: Cocktails in 1951
child & streets wormhole: red / lacquer / door
childhood wormhole: all the sandstone / reflections in the / marble-blue troughs
church wormhole: ‘someone …’
coffee wormhole: Mark & Jon at the coffee shop I
crane wormhole: Luton // couldn’t make a poem out of it
crows wormhole: the ancient tree
death & light & Mum wormhole: good going into / that gentle night
echo wormhole: circuitry
Eglinton Hill & Plumstead wormhole: lost and city ground
Have & looking wormhole: found
lifetimes wormhole: cape and cowl
mother wormhole: mother and daughter
passing & roads & leaves wormhole: leaves
pigeons wormhole: municipal garden
Thames wormhole: to rescue something
thought wormhole: ‘God, who am I …?’
voices wormhole: I keep / waiting to be discovered and get lost in anticipation
walking wormhole: cinnamon / milkshake
Woolwich wormhole: that comicbookshop … // … in dreams
