Largo
I
I am content and so well pleased
Just to sit in solitude, under shady trees;
I watch the ducks on Queen’s Park pond
For this is something, of which I’m fond,
Evening time comes – I rise from my seat
To meld with the chaos in Saint James Street.
Ruck sacked students, busy making plans
Girls with skateboards, holding hands,
Bald men with puppies on diamante leads
Browse decadent shops for special little needs.
Diverse accents abound, I smell ganja in the air
Quaintly decked garrets – makes a Bohemian lair.
Hipsters in skinny jeans on the corners they stand
Discussing Streaming of some multimedia band;
I muffle not now I’m busy, yet feel a little mean
To avoid the persistent chuggers at the Old Stein,
The homeless on cardboard, in doorways they sit
Watching the wardens – to parking permit;
Across the city so petite, in only a short ride
Kemptown in the East and Hove is west side.
II
See push bikes galore, ride through the town
Replace the cars on which – they haughty frown.
A sunny Sunday in June, a jolly peaceful while
They ride around naked wearing just a smile;
Onlookers’ bemused to photographer’s glee
Then it’s down to the beach, for a dip in the sea.
Humongous motor runs, see muscle cars to frighten
Throughout the summer, doing the London-to-Brighton.
Twixed eccentric stalls and voguish chic bars
Girls in saucy corsets, view antique road cars.
Trundle down to Brighton, bolt rattling pride and joy
Meet like minded enthusiasts, who tinker and toy.
III
The Marina provides – such a luscious niche
Accommodation and berth, for the nouveau riche;
It’s all on display – that wealth you have got
The Porsche, the flat and mooring for the yacht.
Black Rock Georgian houses, for mile on mile
Large or small, in tatty grandeur style.
Sand Sculptures and Graffiti Art does healthily thrive
Beauty through creativity – keeps the City alive;
In the Stein or Laines, in rain or luscious sun
Street parties abound with carnival and fun.
Of impoverished students, transvestites and Goths
Glamour queens and has-beens, revolutionaries and toffs;
From a Pavilion spouting minarets – so elegant and grand
To food and culture festivals, there s another drum band.
Early August floats through the town, they glide
This is Brighton at its best, cos its time for Pride
Celibate diversity, with revelry from dawn to dark
With the final of festivities – held in Preston Park.
From Hove to Kemp Town, people party all night
What ever ones orientation, a raucous cheerful slight.
IV
Brighton Rock Schools educate the music facts
To tall skinny youths, with guitars on their backs.
Rules of rock to learn, rich parents do choose
But can anyone really teach how to feel the blues?
All vibrant young Things come for their degree
Stylish student fashionistas – for all the world see.
On Dukes Mount verge, disembark a Gospel Choir
As a French theatre installation, grows higher and higher.
Pop videos filmed on Kemptown’s pebbles
By armatures, professionals, alumnus and rebels.
Snow on the beach, from where and from when
Instigate a scary spectre, of the sea side snow men!
V
The corporate wart, is called the wedding cake
For a city so liberated, it’s just a mistake;
The people inside are not all inherently bad
But their small mindedness – is intensity sad.
Pass psychological tests or you’re labelled a traitor
Be free thinking or different, Well its, See you later!
Visit the grave site – of a country funeral pyre
A memorial to honour, would be their desire,
Chattri monument, so peaceful among the sheep
There to remember, those gone to eternal sleep.
Strong wind and the lambs – make the only sounds
The solemn stone structure, alone on the Downs.
For a breathe, a breeze so fresh ‘n clear
Alight the antique treasure of Brighton’s Palace pier,
Play skill games for a pound, one token or a dime
Stave history and my cynicism – for another time.
An almost lost world of creaking wooden planks
Of dive-bombing seagulls, that offer no thanks.
VI
With any city indeed, has not its ups and downs?
West Street’s inebriated, commute from nearby towns,
And sad street drinkers with their cans of brew
Avoid dog’s shit everywhere, mind the bloody poo!
Some landlords’ content, to watch the rent rocket
Let the poor tenants suffer, with little in their pocket
The holiday maker’s money, well that’s the key
An abundance of venue for a raucous soiree,
The Lanes so bloated with self indulgent shops
Sell heavenly chocolate, Look! Roller skate cops.
See the shock boutiques and quaint café bars
Frequented by stylish elite, yesterday’s rock stars.
VII
The heart of Brighton is a plethora of delights
Landmarks, the beach and long crazy nights;
But it’s the people that leave me so totally enthralled
Modernist, Post Retro – care not what they’re called,
See performers and writers in one’s own back yard
And dance to the sound – of the pulsating avant garde.
As a Bromley refugee, once bitten twice smitten
Brighton is surely the sexist city in Britain;
Among the colourful guest houses we flourish
With a wealth of takeaways and restaurants to nourish.
I like it here you may well have guessed
And here for right or wrong, I’ve made my nest.
