Tag Archives: steam

River of my Youth

6 Apr

Sitting on the damp grass

by the river of my youth,

more a stream

to tell the truth, though as a child

it seemed bigger.


I’ve shrunk it in growing,

but still the gleam

carries magic from afar to far

away. I like how

it’ll never stop flowing

will always be here

when I’m gone; home, city-bound,

or dead, it’ll still be going,

always cool, wet, fish-full

and refreshing.


rolling small and obscure

under mature willows

through unremarkable fields.

Appreciated by dog walkers

and their wet dogs,

cider-quaffing pot-smoking

village idiots will lounge and litter its banks.


Small Huckleberry boys

will always scamper across

its plank bridges – fishing net in hand,

sunhat on head,

hunting the clawed monster crayfish

of the muddy bed.


And the occasional dreamer

quiet and aloof,

will sit, and take peace

from its ceaseless, winding,

sea-searching movement through the fields.




The Bus

14 Dec

The bus seats are a riot

of eighties brown-and-orange;

gum-flecked and grease-stained.


Wet coats steam a little.

No-one speaks

as is always the case,

though their shoulders,

and even thighs

gently rub,

cramped together on the benches.


And the bus chunters on, through





Droplets condense on smeared window glass,

as outside grey skies

and neon raincoats pass.


Newspapers rustle

and the headphone hi-hats rattle

as we all ride the bus,


into work again.



Isn’t public transport in wet weather a drab experience? In fact it’s fairly un-fun in pretty much any weather, as each person shuts the imaginary curtains around their personal world, and puts on a blank expression as they strenuously avoid any sort of human contact with everybody around them. It would be nice to chat to each other on buses and trains, and sometimes it will happen, but the fact is that if someone strikes up conversation with you on public transport there is a fair to good chance they will be a nutter. I guess that’s why everyone shuts themselves off in their own world.