I can see you fading
In this autumn like the leaves
I can see you falling
Deep into a sleep
Your body is skeletal
You’re becoming ancient man
Old like you joked you were
And it’s more
Than I can bear
Instead of the bleary half closed eyes
I can remember your acute stare
The dad I knew was strong and brave
Punching robbers
Raising kids
That’s the man I remember
While life brings you to this

Everyone travels alone



We travelĀ  In the same direction.

On the train

Passengers disconsolate expressioned

Silently sit

What happened to days of canterbury tales

When travellers on a journey

Would succour fellow human

Bringing cheer and hope

In the way of dialogue

exchange words and stories

To make the journey easier?

Now no one speaks

Reading the read

I like to peer at the covers
Of books people are reading
on the train.
I try to discern the lettering….
on the curved dog-eared paperbacks.
Seeking to find a title that lacks
From my compendium,
my library of remembered titles.
The vitals of literature… And colloquialisms
The penmanship as yet… Undiscovered…..
I’ve roved pages and shelves
But it appears that the appeal of delving into another’s readerly pursuit
Surpasses my own meandering inclination.
I ruminate on readers
As the train meanders on
from station to station…
I wonder….
What are we reading for.
Where do we seek to journey
Looking for meaning

Seasons past

My body is dormant
Like a bear hibernating
I have retreated to my cave
and my inner self is sleeping away
the days of my winter years
I wonder will I ever emerge
Awake to the summer of romance
Awake impassioned

Western Suburbs

The trackside speeds past outside the train window.

Purple thistles grow by the tracks leaving St Albans

A discarded can of cola gleams a faded red from the sun.

I wonder how long it will lie there still

A broken milk crate leans grey

Graffiti paints the platform walls

This is the journey westside

I ride. Writing. Watching.

The world glides by


Cranes like spider webs
Stretch between buildings.
The morning sun
Glances off myriad glass panes
Crystalline on edges of skyscrapers
The train winds its way to
Flinders station
Some are asleep
Some read.
Some write
Of the wakening state
The river dreams agleam
Its line separates the city