the line of the hedge
so sharp it cuts
your view in two
dirty white above
pale green below
the dark stripe
yellow flags flutter
indicating wind
speed and direction
the line of cars
haphazard, holds back
parents delaying
the inevitable
when duty comes
before comfort for
Sunday soccer
the cold wind,
loyal discomfort
my mam and me
down at the Palais
we dance to a timeless refrain,
she grooves,
makes all the moves,
life for her is a wonderful game.
keep movin’ mam
I say to myself,
climb through life’s window wide,
go out and have fun
because I, your son,
am coming along for the ride.
The drunk on the train kept touching the man sat opposite, making his point. Probably not earth shattering stuff but I couldn’t hear because I was thankfully sat in the other half of the carriage.
It was an uncomfortable scene – the other passenger mostly stared straight ahead, hoping to ignore the drunk and not to be drawn into conversation. In vain for the poor unfortunate.
crisp white linen,
deadly silence,
occasional chink of careful crockery,
muzak – 1812 overture!
toast comes too early, always,
I try and eat without noise,
the food is good.
The Bird in Hand, Twyford.
Past it.
Grey paint, streaked
Massey Fergusson (maybe)
with rust and parked behind,
the station near to the pretty,
irregular rows of black septic tanks.
the loose looming gravel pit
out of nowhere
reaching machinery up towards
the watchtower.
Brewsters Marquis 3.8% £2.65
Draught Bass 4.4% £2.70
Brampton Golden Bud 3.8% £2.65
Timothy Taylors Landlord 4.3% £2.65
Brewsters Decadence 4.4% £2.75
Greene King Abbott 5% £2.75
Poachers Lincoln Best 4.2 £2.75
Clarks No Angel 4% £2.95
Very poor showing this week. Let’s go round the corner to the Strugglers.
They stood there, 10 travellers on the platform waiting for the night train. It was cold but not as cold as it had been. We were coming out of winter and into spring so despite the late hour there was the slightest hint of freshness in the air.
The connection wasn’t a good one so we all had to hang around, having mostly got off the express, I guess. The onward journey was only a short one, maybe thirty minutes. It wasn’t as if we had the whole night ahead of us which somewhat reduced the dramatic effect.
Classic FM on the radio provides a relaxing background to streaky bacon with one egg, over easy, and steaming black cawfee.
Sunlight streams through the slats in the blind in the kitchen window.
There is no pressure and I sit quietly on the pew, in the corner, uninterrupted. No jobslist, no hassle. I feel my shoulders loosen up and relax.
Times were when I loved nothing more
than the ‘1812’. Its cannons’ roar,
its church-bells’ ringing
used to make my pulse-rate soar.
But now what sets my heart a-winging
is Carol singing.
There are trees in Northumberland Avenue
They were not cut down during the war
To provide spars for spitfire wings
To prevent them being a fire hazard during the blitz
Or to stop spies from hiding in their branches
And listening in on conversations
“Being Prepared”
Selfridges Sell Fridges
Hitchin a lift
Fir StClass
NE Wark
Y Ork
E Scalator
Simple harmonic foot
The unfinished roof
Five elephants before the fall
I’ve just checked and the car keys are still in my pocket
I can see clearly now the book is closed
Vince’s flowers
Hawaii
Australia
New Zealand
Central America
Pacific Islands
Isle of Man
The sun set
an hour ago,
yet
through the kitchen window
I see clear to the bottom of the garden.
There, in the sumach,
singing still
and undeterred
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