Love off the rails

Commuting by train can be such a bore but who of us hasn’t played harmless games to pass the time?


The rocking of the train’s worn out velveteen seat
relaxing where it fits for tired head and hot pulsating feet,
no longer a nostalgic rhythm clickerty-clack, clickerty-clack,
just a quieter comfort from the featureless seamless track.

Images and colour change to quickly for appreciation,
soundless tannoy’s speak of each fleeting, nameless station.
Reflections flash past but too many to clearly view,
the attractions they feed in thankfully, limited to a few.

Amongst the crushed static travellers, few are familiar
although one or two stir up something more vascular
and you hope for a look or even a glance,
but features remain aloof, romance, no, not a chance.

Focused thoughts then seem to raise an attraction,
if only in a mirrored windows dark streaked reflection,
their eyes look deeper into yours, synaptic layers mingle,
you wonder just why they are so obviously single.

Sharp the thorns of rejection stick hard in your eyes,
with such overheated attention, is it such a surprise,
only you can’t give it up and these looks continue,
when you do find a smile, it steps past with ne’er an adieu.

Your station sequels in, the crush carries you in its sweep,
eyes open at what was a pat surely, on your one bottom cheek,
you reach back to find the as yet unseen set of warm digits
they clasp at your reaching and together you and they fidget
but hold on as you move to the freshness of the platform
where smile accepted you stroll, life partners, thankfully home.

paris-men-holding-hands

Reflection

Have you ever been on a train late at night and strange desires tease your ego?  No?  Well I have….


Being an avid people watcher, there was plenty of interest in the crowded train carriage. While actually too crowded for my comfort, station by station the commuting assemblage thinned until there were only a few of us left. My mood relaxed in tandem.

Those passengers left were unfortunately positioned to be reduced to just domes of heads, all different hair colour, scalp tone, hat style; I was disappointed.

Although I know it couldn’t have been by design, there was only one face to be seen from where I sat tightly in my corner. Actually there were two faces, one in profile, warm, friendly, passively looking out into the darkness, the same night-time creating a mirror to accommodate the second; a rather paler reflection that seemed to be looking in my direction across the seat tops. In my direction but there was no eye contact that constituted recognition or communication. My interest was pricked but I was drawn away to muse over a rather shapely dark skinned scull a couple of seats behind him; them.

Further distraction came as the next station slid alongside and my eyes flicked about in hope but returned to the warm face which was now alone, it’s counterpart lost in the whiteness of the platform lights. As the carriage doors cycled open and closed, I studied his rather attractive features. Smooth tight skin, mid thirties, perhaps younger, yes younger; I was trying to kid myself that I didn’t need to consider the youth. Pale grey irises stood out clearly in their clean white pools but a blink hooded then a little and the long dark lashes linking to manicured brows showed them off to perfection.

A ripple on his temple was driven by some agitation of the defined jaw, I caught a pout of gentle rouge brown lips and the forehead rested once more. To one side a neat flat ear was nestling beneath the tightly cropped hair line that gently developed upward only to disappear under a shock of sculpted silk strands wrapping smoothly out of sight to the nape; I could easily picture the 360 degree image in my practised mind’s eye. This indulgence was brushed aside but the sudden reappearance of the boy’s co-conspirator, this time the black backed reflection was not so isolated, in fact it was staring at me, not past me, not through me, right inside me.

Embarrassed, I looked away, but the attraction had already been secured by my psyche and I allowed my peripheral vision to keep the image available; indistinct but available.

They were inviting eyes and my resolve failed quickly and I allowed mine to be locked into them. It lasted for only a millisecond but there was something wrong with this picture; it was my rational brain speaking to me; I couldn’t determine the problem but there was something odd going on.

In the previous minutes, neither of us in this detached intimacy had moved more than the occasional discrete muscle but I froze as the reflective face broke into a smile, I could see it clearly although still locked into the grey pools. His cheek bones had filled out with raised impudence, teeth, white and even, glistened inside lips full. The problem resolved.

The face, the living face hadn’t changed its stoic beautiful profile. Trying to break myself away to confirm this peculiarity seemed impossible but when the wink that was tossed, definitely didn’t come from the statuesque form. Confusion slapped me hard on the cheek and my neck swung round only to be met by the confusion of reflections of reflections in the opposing windows. It was too much to reason and I bounced back to the original conundrum.

The smile was still in place and although I returned it willingly, I hoped that mine was hidden by the high velveteen seat backs between us. Knowing that my reciprocation had been registered, a more comprehensible set of facial niceties beamed out their acceptance of my complete attention.

Still confused I glanced momentarily to the left but felt guilty as a frown dig into his forehead. The visceral version of this peculiarity still hadn’t moved it’s ravishing contours. As my eyes flicked back, I could tell that he displeased as the corners of his mouth had dropped slightly in silent admonishment; I tilted my head and raised an eyebrow in apology. What was I apologising for? I was flirting with a reflection, beautiful, but still only a refection. Was I so desperate for attention? So gullible? My eyes stabbed with pain and they screwed up against another set of bright lights, my head fell forward and hit the seat in-front of me. The train screeched harshly to its rest.

The atmosphere changed. People were getting in my way, there was no room to manoeuvrer or escape as a rotund panting body exhaled some obnoxious curry flavoured breath as it sat heavily almost in my lap; my stomach turned. Disappointment rocked me back into the uncomfortable seat. Craning a stiffening neck around the seat, the vision of beauty was gone, as was its counterpart, leaving only an invisible imprint on the weather streaked glass.

All I could do was scowl at the unfortunate mass next to me.

Winter

Withseasons8Winter the weather turning decidedly cold and wet, I though it time to bring out a few observations on the last of the seasons; hope you enjoy them


 

White wastelands glisten from chocolate box tops,
for most, these are things of memory where the fantasy we hope for stops.
Autumn’s detritus soaked by dew and more often frost,
means that the coldest of seasons has the years kindness, for now at least, lost.

Modern trends help make shorter days, normal days,
and with cold air less of a problem most can still relax and laze,
in the comfort of automated centrally governed heat,
steamed up windows belie the balmy temperature of your pampered and rather toasty feet.

The suns lower path is something only natural,
but you have no advantage and rearrange you diary try to make it more or less compatible,
car share mums dictate the drama of the daily school run,
with many trying to fit in work, it doesn’t take much weather not to get everything done.

But when we can, we make the most of the time,
start to plan for the seasons one great event, not too early but through pre Christmas sales you still do climb,
hold back? no sir, throughout every department the temptation’s ever there,
but you can always hide those secret presents somewhere, perhaps under the stair.

Distract from the practical to enjoy more of the theme,
a winter’s wonderland, you may even get to watch your local football team,
or rugby as they plunder the balls across ever muddied grass,
you cheer and whistle, scream ‘Wot, Ref’ when your favourite player has been dumped on his ass.

Snow lovers in current divergent climates have many a doubt,
and now have to plan ahead to get piste, just one or two if they can on an Alp,
those who stay home, take brief advantage, and hopefully some more,
of the odd days of white stuff done more safely with less risk of avalanche horror.

Others dust off the sled, that’s been hung in the shed,
find a slope, push, scream, bounce bang crash, you’re glad of the helmet on your head,
drag only slightly damaged yourself back home and a piping hot bath,
perhaps stick to the track now but at least you created a memory and had something of a laugh.

Then Christmas is here, at last, its been just too long,
excitement bursts from every corner, bright, baubley bounty, even the odd festive song,
‘Its not the same as it was’, that’s the usual comment my Gran’
who remembers nuts in your stocking and rare treats only seen at this time, of the white bearded man.

Festivals fly fast and then, oh dear they’re all done and gone,
New Year sees your decorations packed, the world looks rather plain and perhaps just a little wan,
They say its the lack of sunshine, nature’s natural, vitamin D,
all I know is that its just a matter of time as the world spins, and what will be, will be.

The Patient

An unfortunate incident but we got through it.


Busy hospital
Bustles about you,
Beds full of patients,
Books full of notes

Curtains pulled round,
Clothes swapped for gowns, thin,
Cups of cool tea,
Crusts curl on plate

Waiting, then wandering,
Watching all, sitting cool,
White coats flutter
Willing students lean in and peer

“This ones a poser?”
The consultant, questions
“Tell me young medic, what
The prognosis might be?”

“It presents with a lump sir,
It could be,” he pauses,
“It might be,” notes rustle,
“It’s definitely a…. hmmm”

You listen all eager but
Young faces they’re frowning,
You’re not really certain,
Your nerves begin to crown

Patience is expended,
Pan-faced professor is grim,
“Pull together you students,
Please, what is this in him?”

You look round, still blank faces,
You must seem very tense,
“You’ll be fine” says the sister,
“You just sit still,” she grins

“Well I’ll tell you them shall I”
Words of wisdom they flow
“We’ll cut him just here, yes,
What size?” but they don’t really know

In confusion you stop listening,
It’s their job, you just lie there,
In the end you’ll be better,
Into their hands, you just relax

Darkness envelops,
Dreams devour you,
Dull pain now, there,
Down below

But by doctors orders
Bed baths over
Bag of pills and
Back home you go.

Morning shines new,
Miss the food, no,
Miss the appendage?
Maybe a little,
Mmmm
May-be so.

Medics

The Wheelie Bin Affair

This piece was written for an ‘in house’ competition for one of the writing groups I am part of; it didn’t win but that’s OK. You can see the winner here if you would like – or dare to!


Although I don’t personally have the pleasure of using the new recycling wheelie bins, I sometimes hear the chatter of them; today for instance. I was picking at a few errant weeds in my front border when a quiet conversation weaved its way through the hedge and caught my attention, mainly because of the rather superior tone that was being taken.

“He always gets left out there, look at him, all black and dowdy, always last to be collected but then that’s understandable I guess.”

“You can be such a snob at times.”

“Excuse me, doesn’t my natural pedigree show, blue blood always comes to the top you know.”

“Well it’s blue and on the top but you are hardly something very much different…..”

“I beg your pardon,” the voice cut in, “I know you’re green with envy but have you seen my special compartments? You can’t deny that I’m here to provide the more valuable service, this bit in here, that bit in there and only the best of course, would you like to have a read of yesterdays Times?

“No thank you, I’m more of a Gardeners World reader.”

“Humm, I guess you are. Anyway, all the dirty rubbish gets passed on to him. All that black bag business and constantly smelling like some, well I don’t know what I’m just surprised I’m expected to stand next to him, he can get a little whiffy you know, saying that, so can you on a hot day; is there nothing you can do about yourself?”

“I’ll have you know I’m just as essential as you, I was specially purchased you know, not everyone has one like me, we are very particular who and what we service.”

“Well that’s just it isn’t it, you service whereas I’m a necessity, EU regulations don’t you know! You two have been around for years doing your best, but now I’m providing the new and most valuable service.”

“Watch out he’s coming back.”

I was almost tempted to pull back the bushes as see what was going on but didn’t want to be seen as the nosey neighbour. After a rumble and a scrape, the conversation continued.

“A good dump today was it?”

“I do have to say it’s nice to get rid of it, I think two weeks is a little long even with a good fitting lid like I’ve got but of course you don’t have to think about that in your cosy separated life do you?”

“Now now my good man, we all have our part to play, someone has to deal with the dross, and if the lid fits, or in your case not very well,…hahaha.”

Even I could see that this wasn’t very a kind attitude but another sound of movement dragged me away from the thought.

“See you later boys, I’m off to do my Special job, all that fresh-cut grass, mmmmm, sweet heaven.”

The voice faded and was soon accompanied by the gentle hum of a lawnmower. The remaining parties were quiet for a while and I was struggling to find any more weeds to remove but continued the pretence anyway.

“You can be quite harsh you know, even a dirty old thing like me has feelings you know.”

“Well, yes, I’m sorry, but it’s him, he’s itching to get in-between us, every time he goes out I dread that he’ll muscle his way back in and then where would be, we household chaps have to stick together don’t you know.”

“I do, but it’s still not very nice to listen to, you understand how I would be lost without you, how I managed all these years on my own I shall never know.”

“Now then you silly smelly old thing, you settle here next to me and I’ll sort the other one out, we can sit here quite nicely and sort out the troubles of the world together, I don’t think I could do it on my own if the truth be told.”

“Thank you Henry, you are so good to me.”

“That’s OK Bert, someone has to take charge so it might as well be me.”

Things went rather quiet but I had a picture in my mind of the two of them happily nestled in the corner of the yard quite happy in their own company. The haughty voice piped up again.

“I do wish you could straighten up those numbers though, they do rather let the side down… what, what?”

“Now then Henry, you know you like me being a little kinky, mmm?”

Back in my kitchen I tied off the top of the carrier bag that I used for rubbish and tossed it into the industrial sized steel bin in the communal area, the receptacle grunted it’s usual gruff thanks and I nodded in return.

The Wait

A further contribution to the 99 word collection. This one was inspired by a place we would all like to avoid I’m sure ?


The monitors and gauges sat bleeping and flashing in some uncoordinated operetta of care, but it didn’t entertain during the wait. Although the procedure was minor and as they say, routine, the waiting like the thought was proving more difficult.

The clinical smells and the shiny surfaces offered only cold comfort, even well-meant heat pouring from squared ducts was lost in its irritating draft.

“Are we ready?”

The smile in a neat blue uniform failed to pacify the butterflies.

Lying down, hypnotic ceiling lights distracted until with thump of bed against door the reality snapped back.

Wait over.

Hospital Lights

Modernist Sculpture

It never ceases to amaze me where inspiration strikes you, but you sometimes have to be ready to receive it or it’s gone in a heart beat.


Train seat handles

In a gently rocking carriage, the curious symmetry of seat handles in your eye line draws you into their simple geometry. With eyes falling out of focus they bleed into one flat abstract form while peripheral vision tries to grab hold of the scurrying hedges, pylons and fences that blur yet remain distinctive. Sadly, no longer the thump-de-dump the of track joints on modern sleek continuous rails yet the pulsing imagery holds you transfixed to this modernist sculpture, silently daring you to break your stare. “Tickets please” rescues you and with a grateful sigh you re-enter the chaotic consciousness.

Dark Island II

This is another 99 word piece but is linked to a longer piece, Dark Island, as an exercise in concise writing, let’s see if it works?


For years this had been your happy place, despite being only a sad rocky outcrop, pockets of scented greenery and satisfying pools delight to submerge you to rise refreshed and sated.

Pacing around the shoreline, avoiding its grey foaming lips, the occasional glimpse of a white-topped rescue prove to be just tricks of the mind and it’s only the knightly vision of the rearing dappled stallion holding no benevolence in this solitary jaded pit.

Back in the shelter that now only hangs together with wisps of dreams, the cold nights could take you at anytime and no-one would know.

Dark Island 2

Dark Island

It’s a dark day today


This narrow circle of life in an ocean of sharks is getting smaller by the day. The dark water lapping inexorably at the delicate shore-line is eating inwards towards wrinkled feet where the general isolation is beginning to feel cold and more desperate, almost by the hour.

For years this had been your happy place to live, despite being only a sad rocky outcrop, there were small pockets of lush enveloping scented greenery and cool satisfying pools of delight to submerge in and rise refreshed and sated; but now even these were drying up and wilting in the emotional drought.

Pacing around the shoreline, avoiding its grey foaming lips, the tip of a once tall proud outcrop flicked into view but remained swathed in the feathery spume of the waves that washed it clean of all humanity and hope. You can’t bear to look it for long fearing that the memories of more intimate times will overwhelm you. It’s lone inhabitant that had often allowed the heat of human entanglement was long washed to their uncertain death in the watery hunger. The few other such places were now only clouded memories but at least they couldn’t taunt you with lingering promises but the certainty of a dry shrivelled humiliation.

Even the occasional glimpse of a white-topped rescue only prove to be tricks of the mind, often only theirs as yours has given up that hope long ago; a knightly vision on rearing grey dappled stallion is a thing of beauty but holds no benevolence in this jaded pit.

With less things to distract a crumbling ego and forgotten care, you stumble back to the shelter that now only hangs together with wisps of dreams. Darkness is quickly drawing you in, the light of a life clouded in mouldering billowing fungi and the threats of rumbled horror.

The hiss of the foam creeping ever closer makes you draw up the rough sackcloth and you croak back a cough from the dust of ashes now long cold, night could take you now and no-one would know, would they even care?

Beside you an email pinged into its inbox but just from the subject line you know it wasn’t from him; that boat has sailed and deep down you know there would be no others cruising onto your horizon anytime soon.

Dark Island