The train was angry

The train was angry because of the stress
Gone is the humour, the quaintness
In came the rules, the strict regimes
The paranoia of modern times.

The train felt angry, it was horse whipped
Spurred on by the driver like the old horse
Starving and tired under a cruel master
With never any freedom never any leisure.

The nights were shortening the pressure grew
For high speed journeys from Glasgow to Crewe
But just before entering the junction at Stoke
The train lost its temper and off the tracks broke

Why did it happen? A reason we need
Why did the train crash at such a high speed?
Perhaps like the carthorse pushed to the edge
It reflects how society plays games on the ledge.

Nov 10th

I’D LIKE TO JOIN A RAILWAY LINE

I’d like to join a railway line and never have to stop
Or languish in a siding or sold off as scrap

With fuel to keep me going, water to slake my thirst
Through the night with fires alight I would travel around your lap

I’d like to join a railway line a classic model one
A line so beautiful in design that circles round the sun

To never ever tire, to ignore the tick of time
To dispense with any schedule,
Oh yes, I’d like to join a railway line

Steaming to the buffer on a private track
With carriages of sumptuousness, upholstery of black
To spend my time on the railway line
With no need of turning back
Oh yes I’d like to join a railway line

The summer would be timeless without the need of work
Just to travel round and round the railway line

The nights would be endless as we’d listen to the sound
Of stars alive forever until the end of time
Oh yes, I’d like to join a railway line

27 Nov 1995

 

THE METEORITE PILOT

The meteorite pilot
Guides his chunk of rock
Through the night sky.

Once long ago
In a desperate war on earth
They were used as suicide meteorites
Crashing into cities
Leaving giant craters
Where people once were.

The meteorite pilot
Cruises the canals of the solar system
Towing showers of iron and gold
Towing showers of diamonds and sapphires
Towing showers of radioactive mineral
Guiding the meteorite
Around the heavenly bodies.

The meteorite pilot
Like a cavalry officer
He will charge against whole populations
He will make the earth rock
To leave behind a cleansed land
For the ruling class.

The meteorite pilot
Cruises outer space
The leader of rocks
That go where he leads them.
It’s no easy life,
Meteorites are like wild horses
Galloping through the darkness.
To harness them
Is a fight to the death.

The meteorite pilot
Has other work,
While doing the rounds
He observes the frontier,
He picks up strays,
He destroys rogues,
Turns them into fuel,
He keeps the heavens safe
For those who can afford them.

21 Oct

I LIVE IN A METEORITE CRATER

I live
in a cold
meteorite crater,
with the meteorites of the moon.
The cold meteorites
love their moon crater.
but to me,
it’s all doom and gloom.

They leased it
on the moon market,
and grew marigolds in the murk.
The hired man
from the cleaning club
dusts it once a month
for part-time work.

I live in a cold
meteorite crater
where the man in the moon
asks for rent.
Where the meteorites
skulk about
with faces
like a collapsed moon tent.

But elsewhere
on the moon
they live
happily as can be,
eating roast beef for dinner
and drinking tea for tea.

METEORITE MAID

Meteorite maid
Sitting astride your stallion
Galloping through space
In the big space race.

Make your bets
10 to 1
The meteorite maid
Will finish in the sun.

She will be photographed by the Sun
She will do an orbit of honour
Riding her meteorite
Her precious space rock

A meteorite rock
A black beauty
Galloping across the sky
With its meteorite maid

Dec 95

The boy struck by a meteorite

The boy struck by a meteorite was never the same, never the same
He came back down from the mountain in so much pain, so much pain.
His hair was redder than blood; his eyes were brighter than stars
Sometimes he flew; sometimes he crawled; sometimes got drunk in bars.

But he always loved you; he always loved you – Miss Meteorite.

2008

Song: Silence Speaks Volumes

This song came out of a songwriting class at Mary Ward Centre London under Heather McClelland, a member of a Vintage Vocal Harmony Group called the Sugar Sisters. She gave the class a number of random everyday phrases and asked us to come up with something. At the end of the day she tried to record each songwriters song. Some really good songs too. I joined her in a small dusty room and began coughing from the dustiness because of my asthma and/or allergy. I have been planning to do a painting of her playing the Ukelele (which she also was teaching at the college), from a photo of her in the college prospectus. I was going to make the painting realistically but I got interested in an art duo from the 1940s called the two Roberts: Colquhoun and McBryde and came up with the drawing you see in this post. Well too much information you probably say.

Please click for an audio and pdf of song

Silence speaks volumes

20190925_170235-1-1.jpg

A reprimand from the absent guest at the A.G.M

You invited yourself along and all that you do came too. Carolyn’s shrub, wet with pain, you passed by as if you wore the night like a fairy tale. Now what have you done with the oyster of your mouth? Counting the steps of my vertebrae up to the moon that rattles in my brain amongst the deadwood of words; A white lie in the dream of corridors echoed through the old building like a rampant albino nettle. The piano played like a skeleton in the hunger of my heart; the music was a dark closeted room of loneliness; Despairing in the maze of rooms in my identity of ice and fire. A spoil of war put at your feet by the red ghost of love.

How often unfairness drags me through prison walls laughing
How often has unfairness blunted my own words in my own heart?

Tired alone and defeated by the stress of cats mewing in my brain
I left you to the spoils of war fashioned out of the ivories of my bones.

Now you have formed a mystery with me
Your inbred arrogance slips through the closed door like bath water.

I can hear the voices of the roses inside
But all I’m given are the pledges of distant voices.

My imagination is plastic and it is clay
It is formed into whatever you want it to from.

If I were a man made of glass windows
The world would see the fool inside in his red fur coat.

But it seemed like a normal day to Jehovah
And I seemed like a grain of sand in a fire.

 

2000

Bag Full of Rocks

My rocks are the memories from different adventures. I thought I would just leave this bag here.

Relatos desde mi ventana

Sentimientos, emociones y reflexiones

Thinking Chitalia

As opposed to a “not thinking chitalia”

.*♥**♥*★ *♥*..*♥*. BERNARD *♥**♥*★ *♥*..*♥*.

♥♥ ♥♥ MES PLUS BEAUX BISOUS D'AMITIES A VOUS ♥♥ ♥♥

AuAu Over

Storytelling Notes Blog

a.mermaid'spen_

I am as lost as the ocean💫

Naked on the inside

Writing like no one will read it.

sva-vida

"self discovery"

clairevetica

poems, prose and pathways

lifesfinewhine

Beauty Blogger + Lifestyle Blogger+ Food Blogger+ Travel Blogger+ Recipe Blogger

FEEDBACK Female Film Festival

Showcasing the best of female talent. Filmmakers and Screenwriters

Top 10 of Anything and Everything - The Fun Top Ten Blog

Animals, Gift Ideas, Travel, Books, Recycling Ideas and Many, Many More

La Page @Mélie

Contre le blues, le meilleur remède, c'est le rock...!

Dustus Blog

Poetry, Flash Fiction, and more

Paris-La Rochelle

Le temps du rêve

Reverie in reverse

Phillip's latest reveries

BUTTERFLY EFFECT🌸

Baby steps in the right direction👣

Adeline Wrights Poetry

A place of love, pain, and pondering

%d bloggers like this: