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Flotsam and Jetsam

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Flotsam and Jetsam

Monthly Archives: June 2015

Poems of Place: At the National Portrait Gallery with Simon Schama

24 Wednesday Jun 2015

Posted by Paul Christopher Walton in poems of place, Poetry

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BP, Cavaliers, Game of Thrones, National Portrait Gallery, Roundheads, Simon Schama

 The BP Portrait Awards

You told us to lock eyes,

Get up close and personal;

Be inspired by Hogarth’s words

And if in doubt, swipe right.

But I didn’t expect a face-to-face with Fairfax

Over the Sancerre and sea bass.

But the Roundhead was a better with pike blocks than with banter

And sadly for me he sat impassively

As I munched on burrata and asparagus,

So I talked instead with Karen.

You might have warned us Dr. Schama

That we’d been invited a Game of Thrones theme night dinner

Where House Stuart showed once more how if you win, you lose

And three big names – Strafford, Laud and Charles

Looked down at us with hauteur and as yet their heads,

As we sat below the salt

Contemplating life’s greatest dilemma:

Of being wrong but romantic;

Or being right, but repulsive?

Poems of Place: Sunday in Washington Square

18 Thursday Jun 2015

Posted by Paul Christopher Walton in poems of place, Poetry

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Colin Huggins, Philip Glass, Washington Square

 

The alchemy of life’s best demonstrations are found

In sudden switchback whirls to happiness,

As when you stumble upon a random piece of heaven

Around an unsuspected turn.

Today Nature envisioned for us the perfect set:

A sky cerulean pan, unblemished and unwashed;

Big trees with names as challenging –

Black Locust, Cockspur, Hawthorn, Slippery Elm

A man-made Garibaldi pointed the way

Beyond the copper glints of water towers in the lunchtime sun.

The audience gathered and seemed the perfect sample

In gender, age and color,

They cradled dogs, stroked touch screens,

Caressed familiar shoulders, checked the progress of probing ants

Or slept off the late night booze on shaded lawns.

Protected by the hawthorn trees, stood the matt black grand

Its veteran keys flanked by plastic buckets – as yet unfilled with either folded notes or metal.

A third up-turned bucket became the seat for Colin Huggins

Our virtuoso in torn jeans, a pork pie hat and the cheery patter

He introduced us first to Frederic Chopin then to Phillip Glass

He holds us all inside his fingers

And in a moment of sweet modulation

We sit within a circle inside a Square

Held In the perfect balance of infinity.

May 2015

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