I stepped on to Heaven Station,
And waited for a train,
This track leads to joy and consolation,
But I may not come back again.
It is something of a chance you take,
When you take a ride,
That the journey’s one from which you may not wake,
And you may get stuck on the other side.
I would love to see my mum again,
So let’s just say that it IS a temptation,
But I think that if I take this train,
It may lead me to damnation.
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A cobbled street,
Laid with care and attention,
Each stone picked,
To match the one next to it.
Built centuries ago,
By some expert hand,
And trod by many, many feet.
Exqusite, perfect,
Straight as straight,
And leading to some indeterminate destination,
Through the trees,
A road that I wish to follow….

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Each evening I lie
And commune with the moon.
She has many secrets to impart,
And I listen.
We understand each other,
We share a bond,
We are both creatures of the night.
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If we stretch ourselves out and reach up high,
We might just catch that pesky fly
Balancing here, on our tippy toes,
WILL we swat it, do you suppose?
We’re swift and sure, we’re acrobats,
We.’re your archetypal spider cats!

The world is slick with rain.
It has sharpened the focus of everything,
And brushed this place with clarity,
And the road glistens,
Resembling a river.
I am glad to be alive.
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My vessel is small,
Just big enough for me to crouch upon.
I have a light,
My pipe,
And my birds,
And they will fish for me.
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As delicate as the flowers
From which I sip.
I am normally electricity
In motion but
If I sit very still
I am perfectly camouflaged
And you might think me
The plant itself.

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I used to be so very brave,
My world was so well-known,
And I was big in it ,
Master of my universe,
But here am I feeling very small,
And rather fearful,
Dressed in unfamiliar clothes,
An uncomfortable collar,
Unfamiliar jacket,
Clutching an old friend,
Waiting for a train,
To take me hundreds of miles
From everything familiar.
Chin up!
Be brave!
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London 1939, when the streets were really clean,
And adverts up on buildings were extra bold and SEEN.
The traffic was actually moving, with the minimum of fuss,
And there was something reassuring about a double decker bus.
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Chasing ghosts
That disappear
Into thin, spectral, mist.
Your breath,
Vaporises in the air,
And so do you,
Out of sight.