Friday, 22 March 2013


A train heads west, full up:
Andrew sits by strangers at a window
table. Further back, I rest and so he
chats, twinkles like the sun to
folk who sparkle back. He turns and yells out
‘Daddy!’ every minute, down the aisle, announces
me, my birthday, name, my age, my job, even though
I’m the one supposed to only know my journey’s name
within the secret wrapper of a western face.

Urchin, on a train, has lit up strangers with song
and smile; calls out to his invisible father sitting there
in a rattling carriage – starting to feel warmer -
like a log’s afterglow, like a dozen flames entwined
around a simple prayer to a father from his firstborn son.


  1. Beautiful poem! It leaves me feeling like "a log's afterglow". I am returning to poetry after many years of writing nonfiction. It was not a consciou just kept calling to me & I couldn't help but answer. I just discovered you on Twitter & I am very glad I did! Thank you for answering your calling & being faithful to it. And about The Prophet...go for it! I believe your brutal honesty combined w/your piercing sensitivity will do it justice.
    Debrah Coombs

  2. Profound thoughts