On the other side of Stripe Street,
Outside the Yellow door,
There stands a man
with blue stripped pants
Each day at half past four.
He falls asleep upon one leg
His chin held by his hand
As a taller capped man cycles by
as if it had been planned
He never sees the sunflowers
And never smells their scent
His legs are clad in coloured bands
His arms ‘experiment’
I dream this cycle re-occurs
The reason ‘why‘ I yearn
But when I question mum she says
“It’s books you wanna learn”!
And with that trite and school-like quote
She makes her misdemeanor
For in my instinct I well know
The portent of a dreamer.
For dreams come first – then rationale,
Then schema, funds and action
“The real-life stuff that factors growth
And punter satisfaction.”
On the other side of Stripe Street
I’ll reach that Yellow Door
To make my stand and find out what
My fellow man waits for.
Who were looking at people walking around.
I then looked at people striding with passion
Following the trends and wearing the fashion
The poem came about when I stopped looking and started to see
That everyone’s walking-their-talk like me. It’s good to reach the writing stage when the mood of the age penetrates the pen which stirs the ink and causes the writer to ask the ‘Who, what, why and when.”