The bus left as they always do, with statue in
water behind me, covered in old time thoughts
anew. Now with four hours plus to Washington DC,
which earlier the Baltimore signs seemed reluctant
to leave. Seven years have now passed, but got
within forty thousand feet of you. I was above you,
you will be pleased to know, looking down onto your
cold shaped snow.
As we headed under the Hudson, the bus driver
announced a film for us all to see, it was put to a
vote, Tom Cruise, Oblivion...in silence the journey
chose. Smiling to myself, at his latest effort refused,
it became so clear to me there and then, it's just
better never to have been known.
2) True Intentions
True intentions eventually reveal themselves,
bursting forward from their hiding place as does
every child. Yet words will still try to build monuments,
reassured no doubt in knowledge that you can't smell
a rat in a compost heap. But don't feed a plant, a goldfish,
an animal, child or lover, then all will die.
As cockroach, walks upon marble surface pristine, with
alien feeling as surface of the moon. But once dropped
to floor, finding a small crumb, pet cage, or refuse bin
ajar, proving no matter the true intentions, the situations
you create can be heaven to some after all.
3) Dead Things
Being told that you are loved and given all the
words in the world, these words can only be as
beautiful, as a house, a car, or holiday. Because
no matter how heartfelt their delivery, they're
meaningless, once known to be spoken by
someone....who is more in love with dead things.
Car Crash, Arrest, And The Domino Effect
Saturday morning 10.45 am, cleaners sitting
drinking coffee, their work finally done. In
South Shields bar, father with older brother,
stalk their chosen lair, as uncle puts his coat
on back of woman's chair. I'm told in his day
he was known as a ladies man, but soon the
ladies like his reputation, are finally gone.
(Isn't it funny how the old lay claim to tables
88 and 86 years old, both unsteady, but fear no
match as yet for stopping them being here. Friends
arrive, one's particularly welcomed, 72 years of age,
just out of hospital, young inexperienced driver
put him there. They say alcohol in blood relaxed him
for impact and fall, proving its worth once and for all.
My uncle an ex-policeman, visited the same man's
home, to arrest him, prison ensued, many years
ago. But in old age all is forgotten, nothing matters
now, and if truth is being told, it never really does.
Domino game starts and I'm soon forgotten, as for a few
hours are all problems. Crash victims bag of urine
strapped to ankle above sock, tells of soon to be removed
in hospital, the following week. My father in a couple of
days, camera to go down his throat, and uncle with cancer,
nothing more that can be done. Another who isn't here this
time I'm told by his closet of friends, of visit to hospital to
find him on drip, while drinking beer from a can,
(John died 30th April 2014).
Ex-miners, shipyard workers, electricians, police and bus drivers
all, enjoying each others company, while they all still can.
Jeff Bell, poet and musician, originally from South Shields in the North East of England, now living in London over last thirty years. Has recently started writing poetry/prose and finds it a release from the restrictions of songwriting. Has had several poems recently accepted in various magazines. A sample of his music can be heard at www.myspace.com/quangomusic http: //www.jeffbellmusic.com