Berrylands snoozes: bounded by steel, tarmac and water,
We lie cosy, caressed by birdsong and the A3 hum.
Our houses and gardens, scout huts, allotments, and pet club,
Litter the fields, and green trees are our bedroom views.
Bulrushes stand in hidden waters behind croquet lawns,
And here’s a grassy amphitheatre for who knows who -
Past citizens, the dead maybe, come back and enjoy the silence.
Light on landmarks, punctuated just by that lone tower,
I’d taken a risk with the weather that day,
Which’d held until Worcester Park.
The London sublime sound of cars rushing elsewhere
Hummed in the background, and then was gone.
I walked up Southwood Drive
And reccied my position on top of a street sign
That marked my turn left into Oakdene Drive.
I strode up the hill and round to the right
Looking at a porch with a figure of a yacht
Marked out on the window.
The grey late winter held,
As some cast iron steps rose up from the ground
I sailed up, the Atlantic low blustering from the left
And below, towards the Tolworth Tower
Cars, some with headlights on, zipped by
Like a dream of an American city.
I looked towards Croydon, and Crystal Palace,
The Shard behind a hill, Canary Wharf giving birth
To Norwood. This was what I wanted.
As I stepped down to turn towards Highfield Road,
The weather broke.
22/02/2015 and 14/09/2015
By Paul Miner
@PaulMiner3 Paul's LinkedIn Profile