Morning rush-hour sounds cavort with newspapers
that fly across cobblestone streets into open doorways.
Subway sounds rush through London's waking dreams.
The scent of coffee hovers in the air while music begins to life-play.
Horses gaze at speeding thoughts.
And roadways of streaming lights paint abstracts across the landscape.
The sky dreams in colours of leaden grey
while windows open to capture the morning's imagination.
Clouds speed across avenues of words,
And papers rustle;
in the wind.
Tea pours into empty cups,
It is the cream that colours each soul with a poet's words,
words that are written upon daily poster boards;
then discarded when the day ends.
Sculptures of paper form their own abstract art in rooms of steel and glass; .
colouring the walls with sky-borne dreams.
Museums crowd the eye with the heartbeat of tourists.
And artists still dream in shades of cobalt blue.
The thames reverberates with the sounds of the human spirit as it chases clouds of innocence.
Light falls and runs
chasing the sounds of the past;
morning-sounds reverberating through early-dawn radios.