This old bridge has stood for years,
It’s carried cattle to market, both calves and steers.
It’s seen too many pub-goers downing beers,
And novice drivers crunching gears.
Built by townsfolk and engineers,
Once a path for brave pioneers,
Seeking fortune and new frontiers,
And glamorous, glittering, great careers,
It is now just simply what it appears,
A sight that gladdens, a sight that cheers.

I saw this map the other day,
And planned a road trip right away,
A journey to take me from coast to coast,
A visit about which I could really boast.
Orinoco, Amazon,
Which river should I boat upon?
Take in Guyana and Peru,
And Lake Titicaca too.
Venezuela is a must,
And it’s Montevideo or bust!
Lima, Quito and Cayenne,
North to South and back again,
Coast to Coast and shore to shore,
I’ll be travelling for a year or more!

Map c/o http://www.infoplease.com/atlas/southamerica.html

Why do they dress us in white and blue?
I’m not a sailor and nor are you!
I’m tired of them saying, “Oh, aren’t they sweet?”,
When I want to play football out in the street!
I want to fall over and graze my knee,
Or scratch it, climbing the nearest tree.
Just a splash of colour, a splash of red,
Bloody knees or bloody head!
I’m not an angel, I’m a small boy,
And I want to be grubby! Oh, what a joy!
Let’s eat spaghetti and get sauce on our things,
Just the thought of it happening, and my heart sings!
So down with blue and down with white,
I’m going to roll in a puddle with all my might!

The chill of the night
Has brushed each leaf
With gentle condensation.
Beads of perspiration,
Some large, some small,
Stipple the surface,
Gathering in drops,
Perfect pearls of dew.

I want to walk in my mother’s shoes,
She’s my heroine, it’s her I choose,
It’s her I want to emulate,
Because she’s cool, because she’s great.
With her I feel safe and so secure,
Her love is something of which I’m sure.
I want to walk in my mother’s shoes,
With her support, how can I lose?

To our mum, it comes as no surprise,
That we’re hat-wearing kinda guys!
Keep warm? Wear something on your head!
And we wear hats to knock ’em dead!
Party hats, peaks from New York,
Anything to make you talk!
Hats designed to come up to scratch,
And, what’s more, they always match.

Photos by Grace Chon: http://www.gracechon.com

Early, a witching hour.
The bridge looms out of the sea mist,
Throwing its shadow into the bay below.
Beyond, out to sea, iridescent water scintillates…
Passing cars string the span like fairy lights.
Decking a Christmas Tree.

A derelict house…
Is what we found…
But with love and dedication,
We have returned it,
To its bare essentials,
To reveal wood, stripped,
Sanded, quite austere,
Ready for adornment.
Yet, when I place a chair,
In an empty room,
Does it need a single item more?

Up with the lark,
And the boat skims
The surface of the water.
The sails blush,
Staining the water,
Reflecting back a happy smile.
Pink sails, pale blue morning.

Sun rising…
And the colour diffuses
Through low-level mist,
That clings to the ground,
Like a blanket.
And I feel like I’ve stepped
Into a tinted film noir…