Oxford Street
The strike the pose pause For a Selfridge selfie or more We now live in private bubbles That we publish worldwide But we don’t speak to strangers… Photo Hugh Ardoin The Londoners Gallery
Standing out in the flow of passersby and gawkers Lost and fond an elusive sublime silhouette The poet shall spill his verse about a passing beauty In this world of digital identity our fingers must never touch… Photo Hugh Ardoin The Londoners Gallery
Dreams always seem better than reality Like grass is always greener on the other side Sometimes words of past wisdom can be proven wrong On an early morning a decade away Young redhead beauty appears out of the blue Crossing the Rubicon I presume… Photo Hugh Ardoin The Londoners Gallery
Leaving Oxford Street the legend on wheels takes a turn into Soho A Mustang of the first generation of Ford’s famous pony-cars Named after a quarter-mile stud or a wartime fighter aircraft And the street is dotted with chewed out gums like venomous shrooms All this minute history held in a single fold of a […]
No better words than Charles Baudelaire’s poem from the Flowers of Evil “To a Passer-by” The deafening street roared on. Full, slim, and grand In mourning and majestic grief, passed down A woman, lifting with a stately hand And swaying the black borders of her gown; Noble and swift, her leg with statues matching; […]