Impresion du soir

The Thames no longer grey with cold

At night, the shiny colors misbehave:

The city lights pirouette with waves

As they lap the bank, where near I strolled.

Blue hotel neon flickers on the river

Where artificial lights meet nature’s constant cries

To be heard! Beyond the oversized

Bridge that from here is but a sliver!

Running through now-empty traffic lanes

Which moments earlier held a world;

An unhearing hive of lives hurled

Across a land of uninterrupted plains.

The silence falls, a gentle hush

Overwhelms the still living metropolis

The water’s dark and bottomless

But its surface smiles, light and flush.

Dennis Severs’ House

    We entered through the creaky door,

Our worn boots beating on the floor,

And were inside a Hogarth house.

The cellar, dark and sharp and dim,

A fire flickering from within,

I think I may have seen a mouse.

Up the stairs, a heavy step,

A kitchen, dinner out and prepped,

A teacup smashed upon the ground.

A sleek cat purred down from the bed,

Left behind, or left for dead?

Her owners just cannot be found.

A painting, hanging on the wall,

Illustrates the messy sprawl,

Strewn across the breathing room.

I see a wig upon a chair,

Its owner must be feeling bare,

In bitter air he finds its doom.

The furniture in disarray,

A chair upturned, upon it a bouquet,

Waiting for its owner’s return, to relax.

The cat reappears, in a different space,

Acting like it owns the perfect place,

She steps over a bit of ceiling wax.

Up to floor three, a quiet decay,

Of tea, of fruit, upon display,

Which begs to be eaten.

The mattress freshly slept in,

The bedside table wearing thin,

The home shall not be beaten.

The house is so aware, awake,

Its inhabitants we dare not shake,

As they are just out of sight.

I search the house in desperation,

Looking for some aberration,

But everything seems right.