Nothing If It Wasn't For Us

The country ground to a halt
yet another rail strike had been called
not involving the train guards nor the drivers 
...they were both equally appalled 

The rolling stock had a disagreement
it turned into quite a fight
they all thought they were most important 
so they argued deep into the night

The wagons said the carriages were lazy
but the carriages said they'd so much to do 
"We wagons carry lots of dirty cargo 
you carriages simply haven't got a clue!"

A snooty locomotive then chipped in
with a fact that the group had sadly missed
"if we locomotives didn't pull any trains - then
all of this would simply not exist!"

Then a little voice was heard 
a voice whose anger grew and grew
it was the metal rails and the concrete sleepers 
both keen to deliver their point of view

"There'd be nothing for anyone to run upon
if it wasn't for us here on the ground
you would all be sinking in mud
how on earth would anybody get around?"

It was then somebody heard a distant shouting
and everybody turned their heads and found
it was coming from the station and getting louder 
there were many angry passengers stood around

"You are here to get us to our destinations
to get us to our friends and to our work - thus
if we didn't buy the tickets 
you would all be nothing...
nothing if it wasn't for all of us!

In The Graveyard

After our deaths - when we're laid to rest in the graveyard will care.
No-one will care that we thought ourselves 'the big cheese' of something - there's no power to wield in a graveyard.
No-one will care about the grandeur of our tombs
the family mausoleums in which we lay - leave that to the living!
No-one will care about the words carved onto our headstones - as touching as they are!
No-one will care about fresh flowers
regularly placed on a tidied grave.
No-one will care that you've chosen to leave no mark
to have your ashes scattered...
feeding the deep lush grass of the crematorium gardens.
No-one in the graveyard will care!

Death comes to us all 
Be we black, white yellow or brown.
Who will we be in death?
No-one in the graveyard will care!

who we were in life is more important.

Think about it!

Who Are We?

Who are we?
Who are we if not just the culture in which we were raised?
Are we our lineage
our ancestry 
are we just our DNA - maybe?
Are we the sum of our own experiences?
Are we our family's traditions?
Are we the music we were exposed to
the TV programmes they 
watched - they watched them 
so we did.
Did the jobs our parents had define us?
Did the wisdoms they passed onto us
their religions and their beliefs 
in a kind of subliminal inherited wisdom
of rights and wrongs
how things should be done
how to carry yourself
how to be in this world...
did that define us?
Were all these elements imprinted onto us by our family
our people
our culture
our upbringing?

Growing up you may not have realised this
or - if you did
you might not have liked this
how they did things
their choices
their ways
but these ways were already instilled in us.
Growing up you might have felt the need to rebell
but you would only have been rebelling against what you were destined to become
or we're already 
these standards which had been instilled in you
which you in time
will pass on to your children.

After all...
Who are we?
Who are we if not just the culture in which we were raised?

We, We Two, One, Us

I am - 'me'
the personal pronoun - 'I" 
I've always been - 'me'
I thought I didn't know how to be anyone else - but I found a way
when I became - 'us'
when I met - 'her'
when I asked - 'her'
the big question
and she said - "yes!"
so she and I became - 'we'
'we two'
and we've been - 'we'
'we two'
for so many years
so much so that 
being - 'we'
'we two'
is all I know - now
who would I be if there were no 'we'
'we two'
for - at some point in time
one of us is going to loose the other 
what we have 
can all be swept away so very quickly!

have I forgotten who I am
what the personal pronoun 'I' means anymore
what 'being me' - is or was?

Who I am?
Who would I be?
could I ever be 'me' again?


Low cloud hangs over the steep valley sides above what was one of Cornwall's busiest ports.
Separating the twin towns of Looe - 'The River Looe'
nearly at it's end 
is spanned by a small grade II
listed bridge
built replacing an ancient 15th century structure.

Once both angry and fast 
the two main rivers
with identical names to the two towns - are joined as one
in a confluence north of the towns
they become a calm 
tidal harbour 
where for many centuries
shipwrights made the ships which set sail
to fish
and to sell
exporting all that Cornwall could produce.

Nowadays it's quays produce
beds for the night
and lunches
coffees and teas for tourists
in the summer months
flood in; in their thousands
by train
by boat
or by car 
down the narrow winding lanes that feed the two towns. 

The single river having become a slow 
provdes shelter for a small fishing fleet
a mere fraction of what it was -
the pleasure crafts and weekend sailors making up the numbers
the river becomes an estuary 
and passes 'Banjo Pier'
when this former gateway to a wider 
waiting world

...becomes the sea.

An Encounter

He came in from the night. 
He was thin - very thin
and had a gaunt and pale complexion.
His overall appearance was dishevelled,
you could say he looked 'shifty'.
His face was weather-beaten  
hardend by life.
He had thin lips - which he kept tightly shut
and supper for this thin
weather beaten soul?
10 cans of cheap lager
with a bag of crisps on the side.

His tobacco stained fingers handed the cashier a crumpled ten pound note 
which he took from a pocket.
It could have been his last - who knows
he certainly didn't look well off
but had a homeless look about him
wearing many layers of dirty clothes
looking like he hadn't the means 
nor the circumstances to do anything about it.

He took his change from the cashier's hand
and loaded his empty rucksack with the lagers - with what looked like a very well practiced routine...

...he then turned
and disappeared back into the night.