It's dark, it's cold, its' just six thirty,
thoughts of sleep still dull my brain,
As I huddle down, inside my coat,
a commuter clone, just waiting for a train.
Insidious rain, just drizzling down,
through weak light of creeping dawn,
Paper sandwich bags and old coffee cups,
blowing past, look so forlorn.
We huddle together, like a colony of penguins,
sheltering from the rain,
As we struggle through, another stressful day,
wait for the downtown train.
Alien voices, from hidden speakers,
say there is a change, go to platform four,
Some move fast, must be beginners,
veterans stay still, heard it all before.
Styrofoam flavoured coffee,
"Giant cup for 10 cents saving!".
Smells like an accident, in a science lab,
But quells my caffeine craving.
Lurid posters, on the wall,
Sell things, we just don't need.
Early morning papers rustle,
As some attempt to read.
Alien voices, another problem,
With the downtown train,
"Can all commuters, on platform four,
go back to platform one again ! "
Those that stayed, have a knowing smirk,
written wide upon their face.
While all the 'new boys', like compliant sheep,
Back across the station race.
In the distance, the lights of a train,
Raise commuters hopes so high.
But it's just a local freight train,
That mockingly thunders by.
But then at last, a train pulls up,
And we fight to claim a seat.
Lay back relax, in steaming clothes,
Commuter hell, finally complete.
John Roberts is a Freelance Training Consultant in the UK and director of JayrConsulting Ltd.
Here And There
My eyes opened. I am still alive;Living on planet earth.Though unconscious for many hours;Unaware of existence,Unknowing of life,Incognizant of humanityLiving in a space of void,Resident of nothingness,Here, but not here.There, but not there.
Man Unbowed [A poem]
AFRICA(to africans in diaspora)
Two Poems with Triggers [and a commentary]
So Many Einstein's
A World That Doesnt Care
War bombs may explode demolishing man and land.Hurricanes may devastate and leave us entirely bare.Earthquakes may devour and swallow up old landmarks.But nothing is as destructive as a world that doesn't care.
Passion and Poetry, and Life
Ironically, the passion that can neutralize the repulsion for difficulties depends on the effort to overcome these difficulties. The irony resides in the circularity of this principle ? which applies to all areas of activity, including poetry: One must make the effort to overcome difficulties to achieve success and feel capable, and one needs this achievement and feeling to have a passion for making this effort.
Uamaks Aquatic [suspense: now in Spanish and English]
Delicately, my mind was selecting a muffled tune, out of the dead dark empty space surrounding me?
Truth is stranger than fiction according to many people who have seen what happens around me and to them, on many occasions. Sometimes I have had others affect me in the same way. This is part of the story told in my article The Man who Loved Jail.
The Plane from Iquitos [1959-Part One]
Iquitos & the AmazonPart One
now is not the time to openopen that great door againnot the time to be more tolerantnot the time to play to win
Mother, I Dont Mind The Pain
I am among those who know that one never recovers from the loss of one deeply loved. We come to accept the death and adjust our lives - rather begrudingly, but we do not recover, we survive. Somewhere in the grief process, we make the decision to survive and then we are emotionally enabled to build a different kind of relationship with our deceased loved one.
Three Poems: Phantom of the Rocks; Lady from Lima & Bell Ringer of de Copan
Phantom of the Rocks
Four Poems: Harvest of Apoplectic Horses [Katrinas Pathway]
Four Poems: Katrina's Pathway
Savage Nature: The Life of Ted Hughes
One of the most important poets of the post-war period, Edward James Hughes (1930-1998), was drawn towards the primitive. He was enchanted by the beauty of the natural world, frequently portraying its cruel and savage temperament in his work as a reflection of his own personal suffering and mystical beliefs - convinced that modern man had lost touch with the primordial side of his nature.
Black Blood, in Jeremiahs Vines - A Poem and an Article
Black Blood, in Jeremiah's Vines[A Dream Poem]
Daybreak at Pikes Creek [a Poem]
Daybreak at Pikes Creek[Summer of 2005]
Grandpas House & From Iraq with Love [Two Poems]
Grandpa's House[The ole Real House]
To My Friend, With Love
All is still; all quiet; The world seems to be at peace. My soul is singing its rhythmic melodyAnd I'm led like in a trance to write its tunes. The lyrics are for you. The essence of friendship.
Wars, Air of Ambiguity [for: Lt. Laura Walker] in SPANISH and English
Wars, air of Ambiguity
Africa - Wheres The Profit?
A poetic comment that just welled up inside my head ? why cant we just do something ? before many more are dead?
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