All posts by sadhj^7

Free Ride

A musician I don’t know And a place I’ve never been A song I don’t understand Although I must say it’s grown on me There’s quite a lot of chatter About the meaning of the song What’s a free ride? That’s the question people ask Freud would say And therefore so would we (Whose culture…

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Poor Boy

tracks under a northern sky south of the river south of the wall the up the down line – straight forward pairing under a wreath of steam (like a virgin’s white dress) that dissipates into air into diesel rush tracing the Tyne – put your ear to the tracks feel the buzz east, west, east…

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Things behind the Sun

“You alone my fate this night depends,” words linger from the lips that speak unknown and closed pleasures, sharp firelighters that illuminate pages and pavements beneath the red bridge, two worlds like conjoined twins, each the harbinger of each other’s fate: “You alone my fate this night depends.” And I long for the culprit to…

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Taking Flight

Taking Flight ‘Gustave Whitehead was the first man to fly,’ said Nicholas. ‘He did it in a sort of car-plane. In 1901.’ ‘The Wright brothers were the first men to fly, Nicholas. Everyone knows that,’ objected Ahmad as he drove the solidly built Citroën through Prudhoe. ‘Well, everyone is WRONG, Ahmad. Mr Moses said this…

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Song from the signal box

Song from the signal box From up here, he sees everything. The parallel tracks of lives lived and unlived. The ones who left, the ones who stayed, the people passing through. Monday morning commuters with a shine on their shoes, lovers meeting just far enough out of the city, someone’s Nan in a cherry red…

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On a wing and a prayer

On a wing and a prayer The fly-through on my travel app will take me to the stars, beyond skies cross-hatched with flight paths and pigeon fanciers’ dreams. In the world outside, the sun jousts with gathering clouds on a late winter’s afternoon, my vista constantly in flux. I’m on a train to Metrocentre, a…

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A Small Bird

Intro A Small Bird Journeys are often made through the foothills of the mind, cautious steps make wary marks on paths we tread so lightly. A trip now, through the foothills of England. From the east where water arrives fresh from Scandinavia, cold winds making chilled passage from arctic climes, are rushed in quickly up…

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At the Chime of a City Clock

At the Chime of a City Clock At the chime of a city clock, Lovers like pilgrims flock To gather at my feet. On busy streets, they pause awhile, Scan the crossroads, turn on a smile For one who makes their heart beat. Eight decades chimed in quarter hours, Minutes measured by hands and flowers,…

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