In The Middle of the Night

In the mid-
dull of the night
I lay
and listen to the rain
In this hot room
the sounds of splash
draw out my
slightly sighs again
Were you not here so
short-a-time-ago to
sweat with mine
The ticks
tock by
so bluh
dee slow
hammer out
such emp
tea time
Through this din of rain
and thunderous clocks
my thoughts
collect on you
I’m sure though
slow these days
will fly and
bring me close
in time to you


A dark knock loiters out my door
I can’t tell what it’s waiting for

Somedays I catch it catch it’s breath
Somedays I brood on where we met

One night it rested on the wood
That shadow scarred like no claw could

And in the warmth of this close home
Wrapped deep in folds of family down

My burning ears and itching hands
Breathe deep, fold down and make a stand


Part 21 (Tracking Tale)

Following on from yesterday, this series of poems: Played at a different speed, the subjects covered by the 10 are humdrum, as they attempt to spell out a beat of the activity. This is Part 21 (It’s about listening on a train).

Sun out with the wind
(an awesome summer wind)
with a warming sun
too clean,
warms this mind.
till a whirring
slowing: Churning papers,
scaring mutts,
rolling cigarette-butts
they’ve filled up all the ruts
by all the waiters
and the sitters,
There’s the clicking and commotion
of mechanic tongues in motion.
it’s our seat
– our booked seat –
and surcharge paid to sit seat.
Slowed down then stopped.
Machine’s not saving booked seats.
And off again, yet,
still not sitting seat!
Take ours,
use ours…
Now sat
we’ve stopped again seat.
Still –
stand –
leave –
and empty, empty, empty,
now vacant seat;
their saved seat;
they’re gone.

Tomorrow: Part 22