Thursday, June 30, 2011

Portobello Road

A scattered cloud Saturday morning
and all that was old is born again.
Aged store fronts, all painted
with pastel colors and promises,
teem with urbanites eager to find
a peace missing from city life.

Antique dealers preen and polish
long forgotten treasures, and artisans
guard their works like museum curators
between falafel carts and T-shirts stands.
Costume jewels tossed in bins,
look like grandma’s button box;
they tell the story of wasted money
or a memory dead with the wearer.

It is serene, surreal and staccato
as the crowd flows down the street.
They stop momentarily and swirl in eddies
of painters and farm fresh produce
before the stream catches them
and they continue to bob on their way.



Anonymous said...

It's a nice image. I go there almost every saturday to visit a dealer I know, for a chat and for a quick look...

Brian Miller said... places like many people and textures of life...

Claudia said...

i wanted to go there when i was in london to meet anton and gay in february but didn't make it...and now i'm even more frustrated at what i missed...

Glynn said...

Great poem. That's all. Just a great poem.