- An ode to HS2
- T-wit … T-woo!
- Do we remember them?
- What lies beneath?
- Like a shard of glass
- The lady on the train
A tongue in cheek poem about how driven and blind politicians are in their desire for high speed travel at all costs.
And did those trains in modern time
Slash across England’s hillsides green?
Because we need to get the man,
Faster from London up to Leeds!
And did the iron horse shine bright,
Reflecting views of distant spires?
And was HS2 builded here,
Through England’s dark forgotten shires?
Bring me my laptop shining cold;
Bring me a bill from government;
Bring me the yes: o world unfold,
Before our budget is all spent!
I will not cease from progress right
Nor shall my pen sleep in my hand
Till we can travel faster through
Our lost, once green and pleasant land
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T-wit … T-woo!
For all those people, like me, who cannot go to sleep on an arguement, but share a bed with someone who can.
I listen to the night
Lying in bed
Wrapped up tight
The moonlight touching my head
A tawny owl calls T-wit!
To his mate, who replies
Simply, T-woo!
Calls thrown to dark skies
They are as one
Two owls, one voice
Do you woo me?
You have a choice
It’s the hard cold shoulder
No words, just the bony
Unspeaking, jutting boulder
Turned, thrust, towards me
And I, left lying here
Listening to the night
A rustle, the wind
Things moving out of sight
All alone – feeling blue
No T-wit for my T-woo
Just cold and still as stone
Beside me – You!
Not caring a bit
Not one T-wit
for my quiet unspoken, dwindling T-woo
What a Git!
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Do we remember them?
A poem inspired by cars speeding past a memorial service, blank faces, ignorant and uncaring. Do YOU remember them?
Who are those people standing by?
A flash of red catches my eye
Even the red kite rides gusts nearby
While I am just driving by…
Why are their faces drawn, their eyes to cry?
Grown men and women in the rain
Remembering those who died, return, die
Yet I am just driving by…
As well I hear the buglers call
Melancholy, slow, the rise and fall
Eyes cast down, or raised to the sky
And I am just driving by…
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What lies beneath?
This one is about our unhealthy relationships and reliance on electronic gadgets and in particular social media networks such as Facebook. It’s how I sometimes feel about the evil Facebook but I still can’t wean myself off completely.
How did I live without it?
My new best friend
Funny, fickle and feisty
But it’s driving me round the bend
I never know quite where I am though
Not knowing just what to expect
Every day is a new day
What mood do I want to project?
Daily I post my musings
Watching for comments from friends
When no one responds and the tumble weed drifts
A swirling black crow descends…
It’s not always quite what it seems though
A current runs quietly beneath
A stalkers bliss, a bullies delight
A dragon that’s bearing its teeth
What happened to listening to music?
Or reading a gripping new book?
While enjoying these two of my favourite joys
Facebook is there with a smile and a look…
Down and down I spiral
Mortal combat alive in mid air
Claws drawn, feathers whisper
No mercy from the black feathered fiend
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Like a shard of glass
I have no idea where this poem came from, nor what it means, apart from the fact that I have a very vivid imagination. When I wrote it could almost feel the pain in my side. Feels odd just thinking about it. This poem was commended in The Chiltern Writers poetry competition 2013, judged by Christopher North.
Walking along the busy street
Smiling at the blue sky above
Feeling the sun warming my skin
Free as bird, as a dove
I don’t see anything untoward
As I stroll through the autumn leaves
No pain, no feeling, no warning at all
of what hid up his hoody sleeves
I stop short and grab my side
A warm sensation spreading
I reach down, my hand finds
The deep cut threading
Straight through the green silk of my favourite dress
It finds its way quickly inside me
Through my camisole
ON reaching soft skin, deep it went in
I look down and watch the slow
flower of crimson blooming
Only then I feel it, like a sharp blow
A bolt of lightening through me
Slowing sinking to my knees
The crowd elbowing past me
I reach out for you, striding off
Strolling into the moving sea
I don’t fell my knees as they hit the ground
My life seeping quickly out
I gasp out breath but make no sound
One last desperate look, a silent shout
The cold concrete soothes my cheek
Tiny sharp stones press hard
My lips move but I can’t speak
I see my future crack like a shard
Of glass, the glass that sticks in my side
And there you are, your face up close
Fading, distant, eyes wide, shaking
Snaking off like the man with the shard…
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The lady on the train
This poem was sparked from a rather incredible and shocking real life experience. A lady really did give me a letter when we got off the London train at Amersham.
Dear ‘Lady on the train’
I do hope we meet again
I have read your little letter
Did it make you feel better?
Why didn’t you stop and chat?
Now what do you say to that?
I bet your cunning little plan
Hinged on me NOT getting off at Amersham!
When writing such a missive
Thrust over so dismissive
Did you carefully consider
As you reached over to deliver?
How easy it would be to just
Get up, and on passing, thrust
Your carefully folded advice
Then dash off in a trice
So brave then you to carry on
To follow through and when you’d gone
To think of how your words sunk home
As I read your little tome
Now really I should thank you
Because if it wasn’t for you who
Flipped her lid and rashly wrote
A quite hilariously misguided quote
I would never have had so much fun
Scanning your note and when I’m done
Posting it on Facebook and Twitter
I hope you’re not at all bitter
You seem to be quite sad
Lonely and a little bit mad
All my friends found it amusing
Is it marbles you are losing?
Next time you catch the four thirty
Claim a good seat – then I arrive!
I do have some cunning little tips
To avoid writing more vicious quips…
Shall I tell you what I would have done
If such a wino had staggered on
Stinking like a brewery in the afternoon?
Simply excused myself and gone!
To a different carriage, another seat
No weirdos there to meet
With an altogether better clientele
A nicer view, a sweeter smell
So here’s to you!
I’ll raise a glass (or two)
To the ‘Lady on the train’
