Friday, 29 October 2010

Leamington Spa Station

For those who lovingly suggest I diversify my poetry portfolio... here's 2 things I wrote while traveling home from working on location today.

Leamington Spa Station 

Poem 1

It’s the usual poet’s poem…
Sat at a station.
I’m cold.
Trying to think
Of something profound to write.
I can’t.

(then I perchanced to look upon the ground)….

Poem 2

The station’s concrete floor
Seems to have set.
But while wet,
A dog must have trespassed.
Now her legacy imprints platform 3.
The fast train to Marylebone
Sits and waits.
Blank stairs oblivious…
But I noticed.
I wish I had my camera.

Monday, 4 October 2010

Hold On

Hold On

Cuffs tighten on shaking wrists.
Tears drip off trembling lips.
Feet bondaged in metal chains,
That lead to arms, neck, and down again.
Whips and sticks beat heads to pulp.
Women and children scream for help.
Tropical heat in free air, breathes ice cold,
Compared with death, stench and suffocating oven of the hold.
90 days of swirling ocean.
Home gone. To hell in motion.
Vomit and faeces between toes whose worth
Once embraced the love of African earth.
Some hold breath
To cheat with death.
Head injuries self-inflicted,
Rather die than be constricted
In sailing ships from slave stations,
Filling holds to alien nations.

Cuffs tighten on desperate wrists.
Fear stutters from bruised lips.
Feet flail and pound van doors.
Blooded noses crack onto floors.
Batons rain on heads to pulp.
Panic induced cries for help.
African faces distorted against floors of cold.
Uniforms pile on top to secure the hold.
Minutes seem like hours in a struggle for life.
Metal eating into flesh, cuts like a knife.
Bodies clench in death throws,
Buffeting sideways to escape the blows.
Weight bears down on prone spines
Lungs expel air, feared for the last time.
Head injuries inflicted, its black and blue.
Longing for mothers slips to unconscious view.
Four wheeled ships as transportation.
Filling holds in alien nations.