From a window on a train I look for sheep and cows
seeing only buildings, cars - as round-about I browse.
The gentle rocking of the train sends my thoughts away...
away from all the meetings that would take up all my day.
People feeding back to me; agendas still to write.
I know this long hard day will soon become a long hard night
No green; no sky; no pleasant breeze; just buildings, people, cars
hustle bustle, noise and smell, the shops, the factories and bars
Roll-on later - the end of the da…
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Added by Andy Thompson on October 21, 2009 at 2:17pm —
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An invisible
force turns tides. Moured boats bow to
the power of the moon.
Andy Thompson
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Added by Andy Thompson on August 31, 2009 at 4:25pm —
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...pull at a thread and
sometimes life unravels -
or becomes clearer!
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Added by Andy Thompson on August 5, 2009 at 9:34am —
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So much crap in one day!
how can so many things go wrong
even before you have arrived at work?
why does toast laden with cheap supermarket jam
fall jam side down on an all ready messy kitchen floor
toast which was burnt only 5 minutes before, five
minutes I don’t have as I have to be somewhere else
and I had to waste it scrapping black bits of burnt toast into
the sink because the toaster burnt my bread
only - I never noticed that the scrapings missed the sink
and deposited themselves on last ni…
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Added by Andy Thompson on July 23, 2009 at 1:24pm —
1 Comment
Halwill Junction's now a sleepy village
after all of history's rape and pillage.
Like fingers spread across a nation
the railways created a country station.
The railways prospered and a village grew
around this country station new.
Halwill became a busy junction
the railways still its only function.
The villagers found their country station
connected to a growing nation.
Without those trains the sun would set
and surely a nation would forget!
When came the day of Beechings axe
and men with pi…
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Added by Andy Thompson on June 20, 2009 at 6:49pm —
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Mr Whitely,
holding tightly...
sighed.
Then puzzled slightly
breathing lightly...
died.
Mrs Whitely -
though fit and sprightly...
retired.
Not as brightly
later; politely...
enquired.
The doctor - rightly,
treading lightly...
explained,
"twice nightly"
the cause most likely; remained.
At ninety-two, with looks, unsightly
most of us refrain - quite rightly!
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Added by Andy Thompson on June 1, 2009 at 4:34pm —
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At cafe tables 'neath wind-swept gables
I gazing at you through glazing
sheltered warm from January storm
(the waves crashing; lightening flashing)
warm with tea; but you without me,
separated by class; and two sheets of glass
you turn and are gone
and the storm rumbles on!
Jan 1998
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Added by Andy Thompson on June 1, 2009 at 4:28pm —
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That beer is drunk!
True she lied,
the sky is blue
and so is your mouth!
If a newspaper's read -
what colour is blood she asked.
Black is white; and white black -
prove me wrong, she argued!
I looked into a mirror
and it told me an untruth...
true!
Sept. 1996
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Added by Andy Thompson on June 1, 2009 at 4:24pm —
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She stood in the sun -
appealing
hosing down the yellowing lawn
in the rain
with dry white wine
so as not to waste water
which ran off the roof
collecting in a water butt
it had a hole in it and so it ran away -
down the garden path.
May 1996
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Added by Andy Thompson on June 1, 2009 at 4:18pm —
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Re faced cliffs rise and fall,
small sea-side town nestles deep between folds.
Line of beach-huts denotes beaches edge -
boats seeking shelter
huddle; high upon sweeping pebble bank.
A distant figure throws stones at a waiting sea.
April 1997
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Added by Andy Thompson on June 1, 2009 at 4:16pm —
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Piercing
cry
opens
sleepy
eyes
search
morning
gloom
wakes
lifeless
bodies
rise,
bringing
comfort
soothing
troubled
child
Jan 1995
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Added by Andy Thompson on June 1, 2009 at 4:13pm —
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Mr Green died
his account red -
his obituary.
A the church,
the trumpets blue -
with cold
and the mourners wore black ,
faces.
The bells peeled in the sun.
Aug 1996
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Added by Andy Thompson on June 1, 2009 at 4:00pm —
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Along a Cornish branch line on a holiday in May,
‘Lelant’ towards ‘St Ives’ with a stop at ‘Carbis Bay’.
'Cross the tiny bridge; down the hill – and oh! the view!
The glorious golden beaches matched by seas of azure blue.
Molly Ben and Oliver playing on the sand,
father sat in deck-chair hired - daily paper there to hand.
When cross the sturdy viaduct the little train we spy,
with families making best of golden sun and azure sky.
St Ives the place of galleries; artists praise the light
and t…
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Added by Andy Thompson on May 31, 2009 at 5:00pm —
1 Comment
This poem wot I rit
does goes on a little bit
'cos I wrote it whilst not knowing
where the bloody thing was going,
whether it should rhyme or not
(some poems do, some poems don't)...
'Cos when poems start to jar
taking rhymes a little far
and the subject goes 'off piste'
they're the one's like the least
those that make you stop and think
and then shove you to the brink
'Rhyming couplets' that collide
in a "sonnet suicide"
Committing Haiku 'Harri-Carri'
sev-en-teen-syl-la-bles-to-mar-ry
into a k…
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Added by Andy Thompson on May 25, 2009 at 3:00pm —
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Should we go out?
(weather in doubt)
'Brollies' or 'macks'?
'Wellies' and slacks!
Locking the door -
rain starts to pour!
Umb'rella muddles
reflections in puddles!
Leaves taking flight
coat hood held tight!
Skies ugly black -
should we go back?
Logs - roaring fire
tea and tumble dryer! Continue
Added by Andy Thompson on May 18, 2009 at 7:00pm —
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Hush say the trees,
to the mischievous breeze,
in branches like fingers,
the breeze briefly lingers,
bows bend and cry -
and the breeze passes by .
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Added by Andy Thompson on May 17, 2009 at 6:31am —
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Her innocent world wrapped up in play
her dying Grandma far away.
Her mothers’ loss that soon will be
a loss her eyes won’t want to see.
Her young mind will not understand
the warmth and love of grandmas hand
gone, and never to return
pain within her heart will burn.
Her mothers life sad to the grave
her life, a life her grandma gave.
A boat without a rudder steering
her mothers inner strength appearing.
Time lessens her mothers pain
she’ll forget and love again.
And through that love a life wil…
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Added by Andy Thompson on May 17, 2009 at 6:29am —
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50 bars –
a prisoner’s cell
50 bars –
a musical hell!
50 bars –
of shiny gold
50 bars –
where beer is sold.
50 bahs –
a sheepish trait
50 bars -
of choc-o-late!
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Added by Andy Thompson on May 14, 2009 at 6:43pm —
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Endless waves run into the shore -
huge walls of water whipped up by the wind.
Waves of people run down to the sea
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Added by Andy Thompson on May 14, 2009 at 6:40pm —
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Discarded buckets mean unfinished castles.
Abandoned bat and ball means play’s suspended.
Canoes are carried from the sea,
Fishing boats are tethered,
Bags are packed.
The sun is covered by threatening clouds
…end of play!
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Added by Andy Thompson on May 14, 2009 at 6:39pm —
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