Where You Are
I see you still It’s in those small moments, you arrive And always without warning This morning, it was birds
Continue readingWriting & Other Things
I see you still It’s in those small moments, you arrive And always without warning This morning, it was birds
Continue readingThe poet Ian McMillan is very fond of early morning strolls, and often posts intriguing snippets on Twitter, of the
Continue readingIt came more or less unnoticed.
Simply slipped inside and curled up
while no-one was looking.
Then, when the moment was right,
made its presence felt
and let it be known that it was here.
Here for good.
Here for as long as it took.
They were wandering through the park
when she started to imagine how they may appear
to someone who was passing by.
Two people walking,
their faces anonymous
revealing nothing,
avoiding eye contact.
The ten forty-five does not stop along the way.
Pushing down the line,
ignoring towns where nothing ever happens,
it keeps on moving.
A suck of air
the only movement
these places ever feel
as with a rattle and crack
we charge through empty stations and lonely platforms,
pulling away from their vacuum and void
ever onwards.