By Gareth Owen (1936-2002)
When you’re out in the city
Shuffling down the street,
A bouncy city rhythm
Starts to boogie in your feet.
It jumps off the pavement,
There’s a snare drum in your
brain,
It pumps through y<our
heart
Like a diesel train.
There’s Harry on the corner,
Sings, “How she goin’ boy?”
To loose and easy Winston
With his brother Leroy.
Shout, “Hello!” to Billy
Brisket
With his tripes and cow’s
heels,
Blood-stained rabbits
And trays of live eels.
Maltese Tony
Smoking in the shade
Keeping one good eye
On the amusement arcade.
And everybody’s talking:
Move along
Step this way
Here’s the bargain
What you say?
Mind your backs
Here’s the stop
More fares?
Room on top.
Neon lights and take-aways
Gangs of boys and girls
Football crowds and market
stalls
Taxi cabs and noise.
From the city cafes
On the smoky breeze
Smells of Indian cooking
Greek and Cantonese.
Well, some people like suburban
life
Some people like the sea
Others like the countryside
But it’s the city
Yes it’s the city
It’s the city life
For me
By William Wordsworth.
1770–1850
EARTH has not anything to
show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul
who could pass by
A sight so touching in its
majesty:
This City now doth like a
garment wear
The beauty of the morning;
silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres,
and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and
to the sky;
All bright and glittering
in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully
steep
In his first splendour valley,
rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt,
a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his
own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses
seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart
is lying still!