Poetry on a train

A few weeks ago I travelled by train from Nottingham to Boston in Lincolnshire. Usually I read, or block out the inane chatter on the train by sticking my headphones on. This time though, as I looked out of the window over the flat fields, a line of poetry came into my mind and I decided that instead of reading or listening to music, I’d spend the journey writing ‘instant poems’ .. ie no edits.

Here are the results:

…………………………………..

And, in the end
it comes around again,
the rain;
washes sounds and feeling
as we lie still
waiting
just waiting
for the sky to pass again

…………………………………..

The trees lean
as if to listen
to our whispers,
our secrets
that we never admit
to others.

Dew drips
from their tips,
like tears,
as they listen
to our confessions.

…………………………………..

River

So calm now,
skimmed only by a bird
seeking the surface
closely.

The river
never gives up its power,
just slowly moves,
waiting for its moment
to arrive.

…………………………………..

Where are you going?
I asked the bird
as it was blown
steadily,
backwards, by the wind

…………………………………..

That black earth,
malevolent,
none the less
gives up its treasures
to us
unwilling
to accept our gifts
in return.

…………………………………..

Silver flashes
over fields
cut the ground mist
into shreds
in search of food

…………………………………..

Stillness,
just for a moment,
as the cougar waits,
ready to pounce
on its prey.

…………………………………..

There is only
so much
that can be said
about this vast emptiness
in my head.

…………………………………..

Curved, water filled patterns
like a giant snake
in the belly
of the earth.

…………………………………..

Just a tiny hill
that holds the ills
of history.

…………………………………..

Just above water,
roots take a last gasp
as coots appear.

…………………………………..

Sleaford Station

Sat here
like a turd
that won’t flush.

…………………………………..

This line
goes on forever;
fields
trees
fields
trees
fields
treeeeeeeeeeeees.

…………………………………..

Angels grow
between the cracks
of desolate airfields’
the roar of engines
now replaced
by an empty silence.

…………………………………..

One Last Poem

I think that’s it now,
exhausted of sky and field;
it all slows down
to start again.

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