Stone city blues

The colour in my city
is not on tall buildings
mostly grey dirty stone
is the place I call home
Memories of happier times
I love it’s dirt and grime
because industry made it so,
factories were full of life
the ones that pumped out smoke

Now it’s the jobless youth that
stand still and blow out smoke,
Where is their chance,
to add something more
to our Mid-land city?
The skins of my Birmingham
Now bring colour to our streets,
Don’t need shiny reflective circles
on wanabee-fancy shopping malls.

A city born a market town
and a colourful exotic market
is what I see today,
How you feel about colour is like
a tortured black artist once said;
“It all depends on who you are,
on what street”
A golden dickhead once said
My city is “a no-go-zone”
but this only applies
to that American prick!

If you look at the buildings,
you may get the blues
from the stone city greys
but stop and think…
our forefathers worked hard,
strong hearts with steel pulses,
in hot, smelly metal foundaries
to make it this shade of grey,
they clocked out coloured the same,
the black dirt stuck to all men,
Drops of our own sabbath black,
ink from wet UB40 unemployment forms,
our special colour made from darkness.



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Filed under Art, Birmingham, blog, colour, death, diversity, England, history, industry, life, light, live, love, mindfulness, nature, nostalgia, Poem, poetry, politics, race, reflection, resolutions, romance, romanticism, uk, verse

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