Poet's Tea

March 21, 2005

Blackfriars Blues - A cycle commute rant

Cruising right
At the light,
Just five from e-t-a,
My silver pump went overboard
onto the tarmac grey..

Alas! I cried and pulled right in
Hopped off my trusty steed
To wait aside for a moments peace
when traffic might recede.

Fellow cyclists, drivers too
passed round the fallen lock
the stream of hubub, eta
was passed along the clock.

But Lo! a break within the crowds,
'Just after this' I sigh
But 'this' turned out to be a racer*
I noticed with a cry -

"Don't do it! Please! I've waited here..."
But this to no avail
He smashed my pump to smitherines
The city heard me wail.

The pump, no value can be placed
Upon its lowly worth
At least I gave those pedestrians
A morning's glance of mirth.

* the racer was a car, not a bike. people on bike racers usually have a good view of obstacles on the road.

Darn it. darn them all. my emotional attachment to bike parts would not lend me to this career path. (and my speed might be a bit of an issue)

March 08, 2005

That Curious Thing (the smell on the East London line)

This one's for James, by request.....

Doors Slide
Starters Bang
Race the platform
over gritted steps.

The smell
on the East London
Engulfs chairs
Thinned to the bone by
Tired sodden feet
From the Whitechapel Finish Line.

Wedged in the familiar
Between the day
and the ten minute no mans land
Before shutting the door
On everything that went before.

Almost home.

March 01, 2005

Can I Get Back on the Plane Please

The morning sneaked by me
In a semi-sleep departure.

To London for breakfast
Sitting low;
Rush-hour madness.

The Platform
With sullen faces
The white chipped paint
Imagined through early eyes;
A city snowed under spires;
A white mountain
Through trees of raincoats,

The crunch underfoot
Almost there.

I awake to the brake

This Train Is For New Cross
Stand Clear
Of the Closing Doors.