Category Archives: Poetry

The Commuted Life

The commuted life

We will just carry on this way

Twisting and turning down roads of dismay

Aghast to some degree

Flummoxed and all at sea

Bouncing our conclusions off hearing ears

All pierced-through with inconsistency and tears

All amiss – we still insist

That we are right – but don’t know what to do


Run and hide in ‘ordinary life’

Daily rituals – things we must address

Keep focused on survival to avoid the mess


A Philosopher comes to address our mind

A Doctor our physical frame

An alternative practitioner does the same

A policeman says: ‘Get in line’

A psychiatrist  says: ‘You will be fine’

A football manager gives his reason

A soccer star injured and out for the season


‘Life’ – they call it

As we all commute

Not enough hours in the day – to waste

Hobbies – (a horrible word) – to indulge

We hear of friends the newspapers have disgraced

Increase in suicide – brains emaciated – 

Normality lost or misplaced


There’s that man on the street corner again

Preaching a message with a fervent face

‘Christ is the answer’ he was heard to say

But his message is lost as it’s done in the old-fashioned way

The communist shouts:

“Communism can put a new suit on this man!”

pointing to the vagrant on the street – with his hand

The preacher responds:

“Christ can put a new man in the suit!”


That’s today’s interruption over –

as you make your way

Past the small crowd on display

The street corner preach follows you to the train

Until you open your lap-top once again

Best to see the Stockmarket score

Best to forget and ignore

anything to do with challenge and change

I will return home and re-arrange

The furniture – it’s due a move

I see my goal as a decorator – to DIY improve

Then lie back and lounge after my weekend work

Dosing and day-dreaming I awake with a jerk

Night sleep ruined – you toss and turn

Catch the train again the next day

Slumber and train-sleep but never pray

Bullies fallen


You’ve seen it –

up through the years

In different scenarios – in different spheres

Starting at school – in the playground

At the milk break


Afterwards as school bags are tossed around

Teenage cheek – putting others down

No thought for feelings received

In Bullish-idioms claiming to be ‘the man’

Tarnishing reputations on demand


You’ve saw it for yourself as you have observed

“Who asked you anyway…?” they say

Dishing out commands


In the present company – jostling for position

The bully – bull-nosed and bulldozed…

Stamps his personality upon the crowd

All know and step away – none step-up to stand-up


But here is a young lad called David ready to at least try

He throws his stone and it lodges near the eye

The bully falls and the immediate ground doth-tremble

David beheads – the giant demonic-assailant

And cries: ‘To God be the glory – not I!’



Hello! – Hello!

Anybody out there?

Can anybody hear me?

So goes the cry to the…?


Those who heard – did not heed

Those who didn’t hear could not know

‘What’s this about?’ asked the curious

Others laughed


Like rising steam on a mirage day

In sight – outa sight

Tremors of sound

As the words go forth


They will be received

And rejected

“Get on board little children

Get on board”


Some will leave

in the twinkling of an eye

So said Ken…


That person – you know the one…

The one you passed-by en route to another place

You caught their name

Especially their first –

Such inventive parents to have named them so


Is this only in America – ?

Is it the only place where the titles are replete

With such wonderfully-concocted variations?

Not just a Bill or a Sam or a Jill or a Tom


Press any subject and go search online

Find the credits descending your screen

And see the names in-between

Great names with a spring in their step


To name a child – they may thank you later

But they may not

And revert to some foreshortening by choice


So said Kenneth?

Never –

So said Ken…

What will become of us…?

What will become of us…?

They’re on the move

From the romantic hitchhike to the bus terminus

They’re on the move – dodging the traffic

to cross the busy thoroughfare

They’re on the move with rush-hour sidesteps

and train doors closing


Strangers in the day and the semi-night

Eye meets eye from time to time

And turning away it wonders why…


Some long to engage their speaking faculty

Others speak when not spoken to

It takes a lot

But some – come to that place

Where they will make their complaint



Some see it their duty to give that word of direction

Some fight to do so with interruption and

A fuller explanation

to the lost or stranded holiday-maker

Making their holiday difficult for themselves


But now crowds on-hold staying at home

Only a memory – remembered

now a frantic search:

‘What will become of us?’

Jobs gone – future put on-hold

‘What will become of us’ –

as they ease down into the sofa again

Flick through the phone

Flick through the channels

Rising and falling in human mood-swings

Trying to stop time

But it won’t stand still

The inner-life withdraws

To the catacombs of self

Purpose found in identity’s home

No more activity in outward display

No more making money

Identity slipping away

Ugly reprise

Ugly reprise

And the cacophony of generations

Whisper softly or shout aloud

Conflicting opinions around the world resound


No one seeks the hidden wisdom

Too busy making their sound

Whilst others in a daze remain

Corrupting any speech – thought too plane


Feel the pulse of generations gone

Feel the pulse of generations carrying on

Listen to the drumbeat of causes gone

Addressing and using the crowd as their pawn


Much ado… – and further still

Making their point with terrible chill

That penetrates the bones with ill-will

“Take my point or die you pig-swill!”


So they say, so I’ve heard

So I see on the screens

Screaming – out

blasphemies and attempts at a coup

Nothing stands still – it’s all about you


Squirming masses up in arms

All causes together causing alarms

Sick people from head to toe

Fighting in crime and won’t let go

No compromise or peaceful rapport

“Outa my way” pushed to the floor


Can’t listen – won’t be told

Can but feed the nature below

With all kinds of schemes

And dastardly deeds in tow


Big sway now as the crowd takes an advance

It’s do or die – no time for ‘romance’

It’s crush or be crushed

All authority to oppose

Ways of peace – are thought comatose


And behind every country there hides

A principality of lies

Resurgence of trouble thought normal

– No surprise

When all will not listen and do not get

Blocking their ears and with one accord

Rushing to exterminate


Political correctness all gone amiss

Straining at gnats and swallowing the abyss

Making a fuss with no difference to make

Great swelling words – most of them fake


Rampant irregularities too many to count

Screamed against and forgotten in copious amounts

A whole big deal made of thus and thus

While the unborn die without any fuss

Been Everywhere 😎


Of course there is always the alternative route

Don’t go – climb the stairs and go to bed

That’s the journey you can easily make

Too much trouble getting all worked up:


Bookings, and credit cards and online stuff

and packing and hairdressing and pets put in store


You didn’t want a holiday anyway – that’s for sure

Different climate to attack your skin

Street sellers hassling you ’til you give-in


Walking for miles – your poor sore feet

Different receptionists you have to greet


Restaurants to negotiate in another tongue

Waiting with unserved others

that you sit among


Why sightsee? – there’s always online videos

Sit with your feet up and a packet of Cheerios


Take it all in – from the comfort of your armchair

And afterwards boast of the fact

– ‘you have been everywhere’

The inevitable lady


The inevitable lady sitting at the desk

Why do you look so bored?


With ancient implement called pencil

Idly doodling on your sheet

You give a glance and improvise a smile


I look around

Around and around and up and down I go again

But don’t get myself in a twist

Panning in – panning out

I observe scrutinise and zoom in


The artists – four in all

Display their wares


I’ve seen it all – before

Wait – never saw that before


At the end – I glance at the inevitable lady

No longer lifting her head

No forcing of a smile


But I catch a glimpse

Of her masterful piece of 

Doodling that I would like to buy



You can’t hear me

By hear I mean receive communication


You can’t hear me

If by hear I mean understand

You can’t hear me 

If by hear I mean the need of hearing aids

You can’t hear me

If by hear I mean don’t ignore

You can’t hear me

If by hear I mean take on board and explore


As one shouts over another

As many shout in violence 

As people’s views are world’s apart

As peace departs from their speech


We screw up our eyes

And with furrowed brow

We turn from the screech of madness


No one wants to listen

Really listen

In a world of people

In a world of people

People – poets – spill out their words

People – protesters – spill onto the street

Busby-headed guards stand there – nice and neat

Buses queue one behind the other

Which one is for you – as you diligently seek?


Society at large creates the common view

Some go astray in alcohol – intellectually askew

The common proletariat retreat to the dining room

Sunday lunch without fail – to consume


Those inbred digesters – give time to the TV screen

Big part of their lives – another drama or

Documentary scene


Over-indulgence and mass clickety-click

Anything at all to distract

Ten minute study – now move on

Some puff cigarettes still

Others as a result swallow their pill

Killing-off cancer if cancer doesn’t kill


“What’s next?” the decorator asks his boss

“Go upstairs and move the wardrobe

When you finish painting that wall

You can give the wife a call”

“Fine” says the decorator failing to know

That he will spill a full tin of paint

his second in a row


He’s having a bad week

Tries to compensate

by not crying over spilt paint


Back to society at large

Many go to and fro

Like men with umbrellas

In Magritte’s sky

Many lose their job forcing themselves to think:

What does it matter anyhow?

“I was made for something better than this”

But no compensation when all goes amiss


And into the canyon go the heroes and villains

Breaking windows randomly 

And applauded by their gang

Mindless denial of normality


Susceptible to the easy influence

Many can’t separate good from evil

And in the midst of the upheaval

Suddenly run out of steam

And saunter back to the back streets


And what of the here and now

What say ye?

What have you chosen and what is your buzz?

Are you studiously disgusted like the rest of uz?


Corporate power-plays

Play-out their aspirations

Selling the world-over – to all nations


Through times of trouble

And more besides

The world of people that can’t decide


We are all the same – but individuals still

Stopping for a break and a random think

Many have ‘had it’ and kick up a stink

“Where’s it all going to?”

One man asks – stepping out of the shadow

In which he basks

Now he is in the

Sunlight – in the fresh-air and right up to date

Waiting for the pandemic to dissipate


Back in the old routine

It would or might seem

In the world of people –

People dream

Some scream – they know what you mean

When you tell them things are uneven

Even Steven has to stop making movies



The wind and rain whipped across the rooftop

With severity

Bashing everything in it’s path

Showing no charity

Curling and lifting and tossing and bossing about –

Anything it could get it’s hands on

leaving all in no doubt

About – the fact that it meant business of

the most unkind-kind


Tarpaulin ripped apart releasing all that it tried to bind

Wind – No respecter of persons it’s coercion – included

All trees – thumped and bent and harassed and denuded

The wind blows where it will – we hear the sound


Indoors we hear it’s drum roll and the rain’s merry go-round

Heard one way – heard another way –

fixed on drenching the house


Creatures run to hide – rabbit, fox or mouse

Deluge of showers watching it’s own result

As saturation point is reached leaving injury and insult


The weather – whether or not – it’s nice or

throwing a tantrum

Living up to it’s name –

proving itself our chum or leaving us numb


We engage in wordy-aftermaths, as we each tell our story

Of how bad this was or talk of the sun in all it’s glory

Sun shines to heat – and sunburnt – we meet – her –

with a welcoming Oil

Everyone relaxes from their work and toil


They sang of slipping into the shade

To sip their lemonade

Or run and hide their heads from the downpours drench


Who knows if this rain will last and we need to dig a trench?

Weather weather weather all different kinds

Especially in the homeland where I come from 

Step out in the sun – swim in the rain – freeze in the wind

Or do all three – each day – alternatively


Weather weather everywhere part of life you see

Weather for you and weather for me – forecast on the TV


Some hang on every word wanting to know the score

I couldn’t care less – glasses for sun – umbrella for rain

How difficult does it have to be – need I say more?


Weather – global warming – plastic playing it’s part –

Coral reefs – ignorant I be

of what all this means – comparatively


I like you – look to – the experts agenda –

ready to do my part


But above and beyond in outer space and further

In the untold reaches of the universe –

that’s where the answers be


Weather in the here and now – look out the window

What do you see?

Can I hang out the washing – or ‘a waste of time it be’

Take your dog for a walk – in the park


And contemplate with me – if it wasn’t for the weather where would we be?



So as the eyes grow weary of even the Great Art

Mankind thinks thoughts – innumerable in a day

His eyes land upon something else

And for a moment he is entranced

A moment of moments

Becoming moments gone by


He will leave his Great Art

And wander again in conversations had

with anyone willing to listen and talk

Regurgitation is inevitable

As is – response to former opinions

Past – present – future


And what’s it all about anyway?

Why discuss it?

It’s largely make-believe

We have invented the wheel

And now art wants to steal – 


So boiling it all down

Post-modern needs post-post-modern

Or some such thing

to become fresh and new


What ‘pops’ in your eyes this weather?

You have seen it all before?

Not quite?

It’s exciting tonight?

Tomorrow – a different story?


A different story – is looked for…

As the debate continues

And the eyes find new things:


It’s digital?

It’s found or fun objects?

It’s the thought that counts?

As aesthetics are minor-ised

It’s the isms and prisms

And the secret knowledge

Brought-out about camera obscura


So what’s left to say?

Much in every way?

Or does the regurgitation continue…?