Dear all,

Welcome to the station, a place of joy and sadness, missed connections, watching time fly. Perhaps we can all relate to the traveller, a foundation of sand, forever saying goodbye.

I hope you enjoy this short "mini set" accompanied with some images I hope enhance the poems. Make a connection, leave a comment, follow the thread.

The Allure of the station

 

 

In pursuit of perfection 

Beguiled by the tattoo

I watch you running.

Conflating Fantasies

With love and a future

My heart misses a beat.

You board your train.

The allure of the station

Fleeting erotica

Missing connections                                                

Watching time fly.

 

 

My Five a Day

 

 

Fell in love five times today.

I am ahead of schedule.

 

 

Only sixteen more times

For an average week.

 

We board a carriage

At the same time.

 

Repeat sadness;

Different destinations.

 

 

Missed my Train

 

Looking at the

Profile of a corpulent man.

He isn’t waiting for

Anything in particular.

His freckly daughter

Pulls pints

For customers

At the buffet bar.

 

I feign disinterest,

Fall at the first hurdle.

 

If you beckon

I will leave it all.

 

Perhaps a third of my age;

I wake up, miss my train.

Watching You Leave

 

Summer timetable migrant

A swallow on wing

 

Rides a shimmering heat haze

Pauses under my eaves.

A rush hour romance

But no time to build nests.

 

I'm a travel correspondent

You a brief interlude.

 

 

Halved

 

We could have watched butterflies

Spent an hour on the wing

Shared different perspectives

But it wasn’t to be.

All This without You

Timetables

And connections.

 

A few moments spent

Along different lines.

 

You’re leaving

Aren’t you?

 

How I wish

You could stay.

 

The cruel

Whistle blows

 

My heart

Wastes away.

Like Fields of Poppies

 

Your lips red like a poppy.

My heart crash lands

On crimson petals.

Never coming home.

Sat Looking At You

 

The thought suddenly strikes me

Time has called time.

I have become too reticent

To make the first move.

An ageing irrelevance.

Now letting you go.

I wasn’t going To 

It was not my intention

To fall in love yet again.

 

I have grown tired

Of heightened emotions

 

But your beauty dictates

And I must react. 

Desire trumps

Will power.

 

The curve of your shoulder

A fork in my road.

Making me late

 

I’ll catch the next train

That way I can look at you

For a little longer

And dream

As only a lover can.

Beauty is a callous thing.

The Swallow Has Gone

 

 

An Empty Chair.

The waiting room

Barren without you.

 

You left some rubbish

On a table

But made your connection.

 

I tidied up after you.

Carefully placed my heart

In a clear cellophane bag.

Mark Harris has asserted his right under

Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

To be identified as the author of this work.