Aboard

Here I am typing a poem

With some words about being

tired,

Hot pangs as waves of thought

ebb and emerge from my

Toiled shell station

Embarking on a journey

Without checking the weather

or taking a coat.

The last passengers of thought for the day

Who wish to travel further than the

Jar-like confides of my skull,

Making some mark on the outside world,

Choosing a path,

and cutting their teeth,

Commute the first and final time

to their new jobs where they will labour

without complaint in the faint echo

of morning.

Hardly a hustle and bustle but more,

Like a slow gathering on the move.

And happy to be moving,

enjoying the view,

and the rocking motion of the train,

of thought.

© Cosmic 2010

Portobello Road

Steel drums on a traffic island,

and flowers sold in the van,

On the Corner.

At the market the antiques',

sellers accent is genuine and priceless!

His words alerts my ears and

I get his sales technique

and energy.

Japanese photos from 1830s

"Forty pound each!"

and poetry books.

Busy stalls, lots of energy!

Man with dreadlocks shouts

with f-words about how..

"The fucking car don't work!"

and how.. "The fucking white car don't work!"

In Rough Trade the signed MC5 poster

sits by Debbie Harry's,

and the tattered Ramones one above the door,

is the ultimate doorway decoration.

Records I had never seen or heard of,

with some I had never seen in, person and

sold back to back in a,

matter-of-fact "We've got it" way.

Running short of time,

My train will leave either way.

So I leave the Portobello Road and

re-trace my steps and get my bags,

from the hotel apartment.

©Cosmic2010

im not a word

if i could be spelt like a name

i would be a word

my name is a word and can be spelt

i can change it

it is a word

i am not my name

i am not a word

i am separate

i am not spelt

i will not fit in a sentence

i will not be a noun

or a verb

i will not be better used

to describe something

or shortened to make another word

i am in no way a word

if you read me over

and over

and over again

i will not lose my meaning

and i will paint a thousand pictures.

Cosmic ©2009 All Rights Reserved

train of thought

train of thought

rolling rolling gentle words thunder and clatter from the nowhere past the square pastures and concrete pots and concrete pots and concrete pots out into the inn a warm temperate chill or more pudding cricketers and morris dancers beware of storm clouds and seasons play on, well play, well played well played then.. see you next season cheers!! cheers!! cheers!!

Cosmic ©2009 All Rights Reserved