We’ve all been to Lewisham

Hawk what light through yonder a broken window awakens? It is the east and Deptford is the Sun you are startled awake once again by the sound of the rowster the Dauster lovingly known as Ginger as he bellows the theme tune to the stirring movie of cosmic Love and War where all is fair. This film is not so popular nowadays but one day will hold the entire world in its transactional matinee group in for a penny in for a pound tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock it is time to see Star Wars.  Groaning you pull on your Gola tracksuit bottoms and bustle on your way to the front door of the flat and descend the narrow shabbily carpeted stairs passing piles of post on the shelf and jostle the latch of the ill-fitting fake Georgian door. You find your way out on to the real world of Deptford. A realm so real it’s smells of fish from other lands and even the damp early morning air feels exotic. Deptford the Manhattan of baby London where everything is emergent and anything is possible if you’ve got enough eggs eggs eggs. Don’t buy that cheap processed bread you’re Presbyterian frightening bagpipe playing brother-in-law down the stairs on your way out. Deptford where all time itself bubbles are between the paving slabs and slowly seeps into the Thames flowing down to Greenwich where they claim it as their own. Deptford is not on the tube line it’s not far from New Cross but it’s got a heart bigger than New York. A region where donkey headed fools such as yea are free to roam and imagine the possibilities of living in this world where you are woven into the gritty fabric of a slideshow unrolling as you breathe. Hack what fight through your window is broken mate. Hark it is Deptford where life emerges as London preens its feathers without knowing it all comes from here - it being the light of cosmic Wonder we’ve all been there. the dream I had of a ceramic vase effigy lying before me. Strolling down the High Street of immanence press play and set off placing 1 foot in front of the other da da… Da da it’s the theme tune to Star Wars and I am remembering how it felt to believe we were all threads in a carpet that was being woven for us to tread gingerly upon. marmalade for breakfast goes well with the boil boil er boil er degg 2-4-2-4 2-4-2-4 get try get try get try get try 2424 get try to 4 get try to get try to get try. The world bubbles up onto the street flowing from the warmer seas of trauma mixed in the Carnival of souls All reeling to a bagpipe cheek below the bridge.

 Oh let us go to Greenwich you and I

And see the origin of time

The place where seconds

were first discovered

Bubbling up like hic-ups

in grey mud covered

Up on that there hill 

overlooking Olde Father Thames

And later hours were found

Once they had a powerful 

Embroided large handkerchief

To wipe the sweat from the brows 

of nearby weary tradesmen

whose job was to surface the roads;

To help the passage of time 

flow more seamlessly.

Oh let’s go to Greenwich you and me

Where the river tide flows out

Towards the sea

And the baby in its buggy

Grows whiskers on her cheeks

Whilst the museum assistant

Makes sure no one speaks

As he takes stock in the corner

Who left him in charge

Of the gold leaf flotilla

And the funeral barge?