General Cam-based Minis

A/N: Finally, this is a few little things I wrote at the Mill Pond a few years back and forgot to post. They're a lot sillier and a lot shorter than my other stuff but I think they're kind of fun.

An English Summer

Oh how terribly British!

Eating Strawberries, drinking Pimms.

Sitting by the riverbank,

Laughing when someone falls in.

Capturing the Cam

Photo’s just won’t work here,

They can’t capture movement or sound.

The lock shouldn’t be silent,

The water should move around.

The tourists laughing while punting,

The locals enjoying the Sun.

The atmosphere must be experienced,

So don’t look at pictures, just come.

July at the Mill Pond 

It’s a beautiful English summer day,

Chilling out next to the Cam.

Everyone’s sat by the riverbank,

With one simple aim. The Plan?

Hang out, drink beer, enjoy the breeze,

Make the most of being alive.

Laugh at the tourists trying to punt,

Wait for one to take a dive!

The Granta

A/N: This really isn't a poem, more a structured string of observations and thoughts on the cycle of human interaction. At a pub.

So much can change from night to day

From one bank to the other

The pouring rain turns, making way for baking sun and a cool breeze.

Drunken bragging and fighting ends

And the strains of a simple tune float across the meadow

Anger turns to laughter

Confusion to clarity

As the sun slowly dips below the horizon

And the wind blows harder and stronger

The heat stays within, fuelling the anger

Another day is over

One day less to be at peace

One day closer to complete release

As the moon rises the insanity peaks

The excuses flow with the ale.

Questions, doubts, fears are revealed.

Only to be settled when the sun returns.

No Space for Peace

You come for the sun

Then hide in the shade

Trying to imagine

The world’s gone away

But wherever you hide

There’s no true escape

For clarity comes

Awareness takes shape

Then every yell and every bark

Seem louder than before

And no amount of ignorance

Can help you close the door.

Hidden in Milton

We think that it’s peaceful here.

That nature is pure serenity.

But just as in our own lives

So much is unseen, unheard.

And even if there weren’t that sweet song

If the ducks ceased to fight

If the fish no longer caused ripples

If the birds ended their aerial displays

Still there would be no peace

The outside world always intrudes

The endless purr of the motorway

The shrieks of children

The whispered conversation of lovers

But this is as close as we can get

So we cherish it

And call on our legendary ignorance

We insist each shrill note, sudden splash

Is the sound of peace

And we try with all our being to believe it.