Stand in the wind as the carousels spin (Big Country)

Welcome back to poetry corner boys and girls. Here's one written in 2006, two years after the event. 

Anyone with a passing Wozza knowledge will be able to guess which crossing this alludes to.


The Crossing

A transcendental journey this, from the tube -
a navigation, a direction finding exercise.

I follow the sentimental star that hovers in the east
along the manicured grove to the end, past
a school, a hospital, and neat Georgian homes. I rest

on a wall             for a time,
to get                my bearings, and
take a cool         sip

from a water bottle bought from the coffee cafe in exalted mood.

Warmed by the pleasant April sun I immerse myself
in the good morning sunshine of London Town. And so it is
that I find myself here, alone
but for the tourist guide and the belief that
I'm close.

The crossing has ever been a fix ed mark
on my internal map, its location -
close to my heart, for many years I've tended and watered
the warm trees that border it, ancient automobiles,
blue sky and above all,
far away mythical figures negotiating that crossing.

I'd lingered at the coffee cafe by the St John's Wood station,
rededicating myself to the warm nostalgic glow
of that constant mark, that youthful holy place
of monks and lofty imaginings, it was very heaven.

How appropriate, I mused, that the abbey lived nearby
and provided the sacramental shadow to this holiest of shrines.
Daily come the penitent to wash away the trappings of modern folly,
pay homage to heroic youth, and meditate on solitary pursuits.

At Grove End Lane I turn the corner,
the clouds part, the sun hits me with a spotlight,
that beam of radiance stops time and traffic and pulse and mood.
Distant church bells peal and choirs glory to Their name and the buildings
slowly stop spinning in a heady vortex of motion.

I am
standing
at

The Crossing.

Love and peace - Warren Ono Purdy