Written at a workshop when the group explored the Pump House
The ivy remains
Dead and grey pinned to the walls
Stuck fast up the past.
Box with green tagged key
Ready for isolation
Like the waterworks.
Peeling yellow paint
Revealed dirty white walls
Dry unknown future.
A high dome of air
And electric sounds
Charging our minds.
The fact of blue pipes
Stuck fast in willing concrete
Taps to be turned on.
Pipes in the pump room
Blue curving maze twisting around me
Life to the townsfolk.
A hook waiting here
Quietly central up high
Hanging drowning or…
Number 27 C
Majestic ease, to and fro
Supporting me.
Blue, ringed bending pipe
Sinuously winding round
On your secret voyage.
The work’s panel view
Blinking, important, alive
Will survive us all.
Buckwash Pump Number 1
All these colours are having fun
Black, green and orange too
But what job they do
I don’t have a clue.