Two strangers in a rickshaw in Varanasi:
Two strangers who never felt like strangers.
Two people lost and alive in the moment,
The same moment
With every sense standing, antennae bristling..

Two in a bubble
Together, held apart.

Caught up in a parade and surrounded by shy , smiling faces
Waving modestly at the fair haired strangers,
Laughing
At their surprise and joy.
Knowing that moment's awe
Delighted to share the festival.

Rickety trucks gaudily decorated blare out the tinny music and
High pitched voices distorted by the tannoy add an urgency
To the motion.

Shimmering saris glisten,
So in tune with the  music that trembles with joy.
That joy spills out from the
Scents, the colours, the gleaming grins and the shy waving that marks our welcome,
Till every sense tingles
With life.


And then the sand storm
Swirling and circling the speeding rickshaw
Arrived mysteriously, magically,
Like dry ice in a theatre.

The air now tangible;
Surrounding us like the skin of a bubble
Lifting us out
Of ourselves as the scene comes and goes.

The sand screen clears to reveal
An elephant
A beautiful, smiling elephant
Dressed in splendour
Accompanying us on our magic carpet ride.
Close enough for us to touch his hide.

Bejewelled and glorious
Smiling too
And all is one in that moment
And each looks at the other and feels enchanted and wants the parade to go on forever
Just like this;
With motion
And music
And colour
And smiles
And laughter
And
An elephant.

The station Tannoy’s so polite,
Train’s here but late; commuter’s plight,
Doors opening, pushed to platform’s edge,
As the herd of bodies forms a hedge,
Will she be there?
A gap, way in, a scramble of feet,
The desperate scans for a vacant seat,
With a jolt and a whine we move away,
Packed with the faces of one more day,
Did she mean what she said?
Past fields and cuttings the city nears,
People gaze blankly, no smiles, no tears,
Blurred names on platforms pass with a rush,
London workers in etiquette’s hush,
But where to meet?
Slowing through tunnels, lean and rock,
Roll under the canopy, groan to a stop,
We pour from the doors like arterial bleeding,
Swept in the flow, haemorrhaged carriage receding,
By the trolley, she’d said
Moving fast, with their own motivations,
The eddy of souls takes me out of the station,
Pull out of the crowd, out of the flow,
Onwards they march to the tube lines below
But we just hold tight under J.K.’s fake signs,
And expression finds space,
Between the lines.

RD@2009

He got on, I think, at the first stop
I hardly noticed him at first.
Another passenger, another journey
Another person trying to get on further in the world
But something caught my eye. Was it his looks?
Perhaps, he was handsome, yes
But the type of handsome in an antique
That must be handled and cared for in sterile fashion.

"Tickets please,"  belches the scratchy tannoy of the carriage
As a red faced man in a deep hue of navy bumbles along the aisle.
He presents him any papers on his person
And looks at me with a stupid grin
His old eyes of the deep trenches at sea, glisten
There’s still life in the old boy yet.
Impatience wins this round. His hands still fumble helplessly
Through the sheets; not frailed though, just tired.

Time passes, he daren't say a word
And looks outside, without a sound. Time doesn't worry him
It's treated him well. Or has it?
As he paws his ginger mane
The grey strands shine in the light
A paper sits unread, unloved beside him
Lights of distant towns blur past
As he stares, unflinching, into the distance.

Grunting and shrieking of rails let us know we're stopping
The muddy blue pools shimmer as he rises.
The blade from Cherryvalley assures us that yes,
Yes. This is Lisburn alright. Getting up, sniffing the air
Where nature is a predator, he heaves his dark blue tote bag
Over his shoulder with a grunt.
Roaming into the darkness of the late winter night
Climbing. Climbing. Gone.

I sometimes look into the windows of the 1802
at the lights; look at my reflection
Where is he now? Is he like a stray
a lone nocturnal animal, finding his way
Or did he give up? Did he finally reach his den?
And what will become of me? Time tells, I suppose
It always does. I ruffle my auburn hair
Oily, not greying. Scruff, not mane. Still tamed.

Oh God, how are you still talking?
I can feel myself nodding,
head bouncing like a metronome,
Yes. No. Maybe.
Of course I’m listening, Babe.
Except I’m not - obviously.
I’m  watching that girl walk by, all lithe limbs,
languidly lounging past the window.
I wonder where she’s going,
I wonder where you’re going -  
with this tiresome tirade.
Your eyes rolling, like the reels on the fruit machine,
No delay on your train of thought.
Hard to keep track, can’t read the signals,
eyes filled with smoke,
trapped by your tedious tannoy,
covering old ground,
chugging relentlessly,
chanting incessantly,
crowing endlessly,  
My job? It’s fine.
My health? It’s fine!
Finances? Enough to get a pint in!
Can I risk a diversion?
Why are you broadcasting this nonsense?
When will it stop?
Pregnant.
Pause.
Wait. What?

Friday morning.
Sun shining brightly.
Train jolted to a sudden halt.
Guard announced over tannoy.
Somewhat garbled.
Sorry ladies and gents.
'We have an issue'.
Can go no further.
Moaning morning service users.
Became somewhat foul mouthed abusers.

Hey guard, what's happening'.
Can't open the doors.
Stuck in this spot.
'Okay ladies and gents I'll level'.
There's a swan on the track.
Our path is blocked.
With a concerned voice he announced.
My fat controllers agreed.
These doors can be undone.
Morning commuters all begone.

Stepped from the train.
Peeped to right.
In front of my eyes a magical site.
Cygnet sat.
Greyish brown on the rails.
Waterloo train.
Held to ransom.
A foot away from death he sat.
Not flustered.
Guarded by the queen.

Went to work.
Cared all day
About how swan got taken away that day.
On way home
Asked the staff.
Relieved at last.
Taken away safe and sound.
Now I smile!





By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

If the Sun doesn't get you
the scorpions will.

There were four of us in a half track and a little way back lay the fifth.

The Sun got him good
roasted and peeled him like a spud.

Tannoy, the radio man was the next one to go, slow like a withering vine,
sounded like static on the line
then he went dead.

Fitzroy, the Sepoy, more of a boy than a man
prayed for a day and then went on his way to whatever heaven it is that Sepoys go.

Bill, a bull of a man from Mill Hill and who spoke with a permanent stutter
uttered his last and I travelled on at half mast
cursing the Sun and the Sand and the hand I'd been dealt.

Felt the scorpion sting as I pulled up and funny thing too
I could swear that the scorpion looked like
Frank Sinatra.

One by one
The boys line up.
A full night planned
Spoiling their livers
Under strobe lights.

Across the platform
The ticket man waits
To catch the nine o'clock
Back to his bed,
Before the working day starts again.

They talk about where they're headed through town -
I wonder if they'll find true love
Or just a kiss and a shove
Near by the bar stools tonight.

The tannoy sounds,
The robot woman speaks,
Doors part and revert back.
I wish you were coming with me.

The next station is where you want to go
I'm happy to know it

as far as I'm concerned the underground's a hit
but to be honest
I don't give a ****

some lady on the tannoy is saying,
' thank you for travelling on the Central line'
Well
darling
I don't have a choice

the Central line

****** if it's fine by me
packed in like livestock
we're just
cattle for the abattoir

are you getting me?
as far
as it goes
and who knows how far
that will be

the Central line
is
One more death of mine
I hold in abeyance

Catch me
In the next seance
You attend.

With leaves fireworking
their last defiant blaze
against grey skies and the mud,
once again I forget to remember

the muted tannoy announces silence
for customers and staff
and the surreal descends
among the tins of peas and carrots

where the absence of the normal clatter
suddenly roars, catches in my throat,
the plaintive, Sally Army bugler
scoring the sadness in these aisles,
these isles

with two minutes passed,
the cacophony of the tide
of plant based diets
and too early Stollen returns
to wash over, to forget

i look around the sweat cage
there’s you looking good, me looking good
back then. i could make a life from that one night i remember,
if i was insane
which seems normal now; the music playing gave us our bodies,
it knows that our tight dance is better
i’de forget it all, if it didn’t slice through my day
and transform it from getting dressed to complete night
blacking and blacking all else, untill your particular dress
and style of step
and hip, is the day;
we’re given single hairs of such things
that must last, past when the morning
tannoy says
‘hey all boarding for gate eighty-nine!’
and you’re still sweating your mind out -
to make it
so far, I’ve always made it before the gates shut
i run like a sprinter towards you
which is where i have trained
and keep on going.

(20 minute poetry)

Under London
brain off
auto on

avert eyes
cut ties

In a cocoon
soon be there
soho square

life is rife
in the
West End

under London
this son's protected
eyes directed
at the floor

can't be any more than a bystander
when the seats are full.

Workmen and Women
all swimming downstream

I go with this flow, it's
the glue you get used to
the one that I know

smell it?

I can.

No one high
they all try
to be
inconspicuous

can you see them?

I can.

A swarthy gentleman who
smells of paint

a lady who ain't
what she seems

a tannoy
announcing,

mind the gap
doors closing.

Dreams

a beach so close
I could reach it

daiquiri
dearie?

a
bolt from the blue when
lightning hit you

a meadow
a hedgerow
a time to sit
and watch
the grass grow

but it's time to go

Soho

I walk to the sound of it
in the mood for it
now.

Timothy looks away
Slightly disgusted
By those around
Flashing images
streak by
Gardens, yards
Car park
His breathing
Frosts the window
Sarah carefully
Places one ear pod
Into her ear
To listen to Handel’s 5th
Cameron looks
Shiftily down the aisle
For signs of
The trolley cart
That’s never on its way
Signs of passing stations
Shuttle by
Side streets
High streets
Cobbled streets
Timothy sighs
Opens a book
Pretends to be
Invisible
To fellow passengers
The train manager
Formally known as The Conductor
Announces
A delay due to points
Failure
Victoria
Wishes she hadn’t
Left Geoffrey
Last Tuesday
By the gas works wall
Lamp posts,
Telegraph poles
Fence posts
Flash by
A trainee
Train hygiene
Operative
Rustles a bin bag
And asks for *******
Thomas smiles
At the lady across the aisle
Who quickly looks
To the floor
Hedgerows
Sheep
Green grass
A tractor lazily ploughing a furrow
Sandra,
A mother looks embarrassed
Shushes, tries to smother the cries
Of her screaming child
Trampolines
Swings
Slides
Paddling pools
Rush on by
An old lady *****
Vigorously on a mint humbug
Whilst knitting in rhythm
With the motion
Of the train
Factories
Smoking chimneys
Industrial waste
Barren landscapes
Fly by
Terry
Anxious,
Gets up and shakily
Makes his way to check
That his case is
Still in the luggage storage
For the fourth time
Since The last station
Garages with rickety wooden doors
allotment sheds
Lock ups
Pigeon lofts
Pass by
The tannoy crackles
The announcement
That the train will soon
Reach the next station
And  
That
All passengers
Alighting Here
Be careful to take all belongings
And mind the gap
Over grown weeds
Wild rampant Budleahs
Self seeded trees
Glide past
The 3:58 from

The jubilee line
a
different take on a journey I make
because a change is as good as a
rest,
just doing my best to keep it fresh.

It's Friday and why not?
yes
I know it was Friday a week ago
but things have a way of repeating
on me.

It'd be nice to say that this was the
better way, but it's so bleedin' cold and I'm shivering
if the heating was on and turned up to a reasonable temperature
I'd feel better

and then I'm
at Greenwich,
the 02 must refer to
the Fahrenheit scale.

From
Canary Wharf and Bermondsey
I can almost see that London bridge
is not falling down it's only sinking
slightly
might be me and my poor eyesight
though.

Southwark then Waterloo
what do I do?
get off and wait underneath the clock?
taking stock of my situation and the weather and none whatsoever of the tick tock
I lock my sights on Bond street and the Central line
perhaps an interchange is as good as a rest too.

Haha
I missed out Westminster and Green park
easy to do in the dark when it's cold.

I opened my eyes to an announcement
the tannoy tells me Waterloo station is closed

I wasn't getting off there but I could have been
and might have been waiting forever underneath a clock and no one would ever know.

This is a nice line
a twin track to that
time when work wags
Its finger at me.


and that's it
no observations
on my fellow travellers,
possibly because the
carriage is empty,
but
I'm full of hope
and that's a good line
as well.

What if they weren't sorry?
what if the inconvenience they cause  was deliberate?
what if this break or pause in service is what they intend?

We get used to inequality
and
if it doesn't bother you
why would it bother me?

but why not ask why?
or do we live just to die
in ignorance?

They're half asleep on this train
looking inward,
shadows
heavy under heavier eyes
more whys to think about.

and more noise from the tannoy,the old boy grumbles as the tube rumbles on.

We're not sorry for any inconvenience caused!
that's the truth of it when we're carried like cattle through the underground and the bit that worries me are the things we do not hear but can plainly see,
if they're fooling me why would you think they're not fooling you?

I met her at Charing Cross station
I kept seeing her look at me and smiling
not knowing the reason why
I was compelled to walk up to her

I asked her, had I'd seen her before
she giggled and then just smiled
I ask again what is your name
she replied you know my name

I looked at her quizzically with my head to the side
she laughed and then kicked me gently
she then said, are you sure you don't know me
I could not remember her for the life of me

Then she beckoned me closer
then whispered in my ear
I will tell you tomorrow
same time right here

Just then the tannoy went
informing me my train was in
ok tomorrow  I said but now I must go
she waved me off smiling with finger motions slow

The next day I was at the station at five past three
at the same spot I met her, but where could she be
what ever happened to her I will never know
I never saw her again, what a shame and bad show


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

I thought I was lost
but
that was not so
I opened my eyes and
found where I was
ergo
I was not lost.

In thinking too deep
I wade into a sleep
to ripple in dreams
ever outward.

Back on the Central
this week's
been temperamental
here and there or
up in the air
but
at least I'm not lost.

The girl sat beside me wired up
to the wifi which by
the way
doesn't work between stops

and he's in..
..My God!
it's a Crombie,
must be a zombie
or a throwback.

09:20 and still plenty of
rush left to fill up the hour.

I'm not late but my eyes are closed
so I'll excuse your mistake in thinking
I am.

This is a different class of passenger
suits and shirts with ties that match
and I watch spellbound
magic on the underground.

The driver sounds Eton as he speaks over the Tannoy
plummy is what I would say.

Thursday
the rot's set in
waiting for tomorrow
and the weekend to begin.

and to go on
or to call it a day?

Always the way is the way that I go when I'm going the way that I want.

But never quite certain if the Central's  a curtain and somebody's hiding behind it.

The man doing the crossword in red pen
the lady in the glasses sat next to him,
the faces that I see all look grim

it must be that time on the underground.

The sweet voice that issues from the tannoy
the small boy who's reading the beano,

'mind the gap' must be the new way we all go,
It must be that time again on the underground.  

I'm ready to rock and I am ready to roll,
I'm ready to escape from this torturous hole.

Someone speaks as the passengers leak out at Liverpool street,
but the doors close on the voice and we've only one choice and that is to carry on.

Nobody could possibly in their wildest imagination want to get off at Chancery Lane station but some do and some carry on with me avoiding the Chancery, so
let all the lawyers there sue me.

I want to go home now it feels like I've worked just to get here and here's where the day starts.

I've got the beer in to see the night out before I put the lights out, I'll be half-cut, but in dreams, no one seems to notice.

Friday for lost souls and all places to...
the tannoy squawks,

someone talks to me but I'm talked out,
there are no words to come out
so I remain silent.

*** it
forgot to pick up the dry cleaning,
too much dreaming I suppose.

'Mind the gap'
or
avoid the void.

Those gaping chasms that
look at you and you?

well, you wonder,
what happened to that dear old lady
who lived in a shoe and what became of
her children?

and you do that because you know that
the world's flat, there are no voids or gaps,
there are only the sharp edges of reality.

The tannoy's a ploy,
it's the voices in your head
you've got to watch out for.

SHADOWS LEFT BEHIND

"Eh...excuse me..."
smiled the Neanderthal
on the Circle Line

he wanted to know
where
to get off

"How come I can
understand you?"
I asked without talking

"Oh I took a course
ages ago now
in Telepathy As A Foreign Language."

he wanted to see
his girl
a pretty Denisovan

who was staying
with a palaeontologist
at South Ken or something

he had bought her
a Divje Babe flute as
she dug the pentatonic scale

told me he had been
working in
the Mousterian stone-tool industry

he saw that I was
reading about muons
of all things

"How can you possibly
know about wobbling muons?"
I asked in wild surprise

"Oh when one is
you know...dead
one knows about everything!"

he smirked
"For the snark was
a muon you know!"

told me he was
a big Lewis Carroll fan
as it goes

"May the 5th Force
be with you!"
he deadpanned

"Holy incredulous questioning Quark!"
I exclaimed in
a Batman/Robin tone

but his stop
was coming up and
I told him where to get off

"MIND THE GAP!"
the tannoy warned him
"MIND THE GAP!"

Slán...slán go deo!"
he waved to me
switching to the Irish

"Is  fearr an tsláinte
ná táinte!"
he offered as a parting

"DOORS CLOSING
DOORS...CLOSING!"
the tannoy butted in

and he was gone
from my sight as if
I had only imagined him

back into the depths
of a time I
could not conceive of

chewing a mammoth
sandwich and looking
for an exit