Tag Archives: poetry

Trans Siberian

The derisive charm of a train that never stops,
it allways stays with me.

Orange fields, open moons,
A country open wide,
Through a window,
Before the viscous sea wild.

Far away, underneath a thunderous sky,
That builds rolls and falls beneath volcanoes,
Into August raindrops, shining rails
That run away from the windowsill.

Endless Distance.

Honesty lost in the trees,
Rolling east into the sunrise,
Awake from a forgetting dream.

Of the touch, the meaning,
Of a share premenition,
The moon, the stars, the horizon, the sun.

That rises into a bloodshot watery sky,
Tired of a journey, that’s forgotten its concept of time.

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Holland Park

Green grass Sundays,
Papers in the park,
Brown skin lazyness,
A careless beating heart.
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Slumbers in the shade,
Swim across the sky,
Ice cream slowly dripping,
With the toddler’s tearful eyes.
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Frisbee spun in circles,
Toddle, race and run
Hampers sit in sunlight,
baked by early Summer’s calm.

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Limbo

Limbo is a tube train at 12.49pm,

Limbo is belief, desire for a destination

No direction in how it can be achieved.

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Limbo is the fragility of a love, left judged by insecurity,

Limbo is devotion lost.

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Limbo is the eyes you have always looked into,

The lips you’ve never kissed,

Limbo is softer than she wanted,

Limbo was the thirty seconds she missed.

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Limbo is the darkest January evening,

Asking questions of a forgetful day,

Wide awake with no answers, still has something to say.

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Limbo is all of your love, all of your love,

Torn out from a familiar page,

Limbo is a tube train at 12.54pm

Sheltering from the glaring light of day.

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Plughole

Beneath the window, looking down at the London leaf papaya,

Beneath the shivering tree,

All the day’s rushing, submerged.

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Thumpng vein, dizzy heat, wrinkled steam,

Guts and organs floating within a wobbling cell,

I hear the drip, drip, drip, of the cold water tap.

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The ship creeks with the weight of it’s ocean,

The tiny shreeks of nudity,

that come from a seabed so smooth and clean.

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Seaweed skinny legs, nick nack toes,

Heartbeaten ripples, sloshing in stillness,

Beside the drip, drip, drip, of the cold water tap.

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Bare bones, rack of ribs,

Caged in breathlessness beneath the waterline,

Without a plug to pull.

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No reflection in the opaque mirror,

But an echo that smashes the silence,

Of the tiled white room,

The drip, drip, drip of the cold water tap,

Nothing more pathetic than a poet,

The drip, drip, drip of the cold water tap,

Nothing more pathetic than a poet.

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Travel Sickness

City summer heat, bad dreams, stuffy street lamp nights,
Spinning visions of how big the world seemed to be,
When she was just a few hours from flight.
No thoughts of the things we could be, twisting hopes of careless might,
A vision of the world we see, feet slowly trapped in the sodden tide.

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Something beautiful in the sadness once known,
Last night’s evening news now blowing down tattered tube lines,
When all believe god is on their side,
Drunk in deluded righteousness,
Left with a pyrrhic sense of pride.

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Calculate the cost of distance,
The red eyed loss of time, sitting in an uncomfortable aeroplane chair,
Looking what you were trying to find.

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Lost in the leaving,
Forgetting so shortly a face to always recognise,
A decision to regret,
A name that sinks inside this seat forever
A face stored in memory, lost in the present tense,
Darkened by the judgement of ebbing time.

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Thunder In The Valley

A firework sparks to shatter the crinkled sky,
Gunfire in the valley.

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A sparkler’s ember in the wet bog lies,
The landmine waits endlessly.

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Explosions echo in the emptiness of night,
Old homes, evacuated buildings.

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Faces of amazement, lit up like fireflies,
Heads bloodied with machetes.

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Dogs barking running from the dancing fire,
Children hiding from murdered mothers.

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Night’s silence marking the end of the day,
Days ending marking a night of blood thirst.

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Today’s the day we celebrate,
Tonight we fear for tomorrow.

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Tonight effigies are burnt and heroes made,
Tomorrow is filled with sorrow.

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Slow Sinking Winter Sun

The day is done, tomorrow waits
Slow sinking winter sun, slides down the icy sky.

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A stick is thrown across the dew drenched grass
Dog’s running back with warm wet smiles,
Tail franticly bobbing, ‘wont you stay a while’?

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Steel cold playground bars,
Hold the children as they swing around on a clinking chain
Higher, higher, higher,
Mother holds them back again.

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So joggers strive in circles around the ground one more time,
Oblivious to the subconscious reason of their motivation.

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Plane like sharks circle above,
Impatient to land, weary from their frozen journey,
Leyden with the ready meals and digital pictures,
All part of the memory, the story to be told.

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Down beneath, model aeroplanes duck, twist and dive
A toy dogfight with buzzing flies,
A battle of Britain where nobody dies.

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The leaves still shiver on the trees against December’s darkening breeze
As the slow sinking winter sun so softly silently leaves.

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