POETRY
A collection of short poems.
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Sunrise Train
Moments of clarity
Are always found
On trains — 
Destination bound
In the window seat
Hurtling through English countryside
Putting the world to rights
In my brain.
I’ve never been on a sunrise train
Until now — 
Sailing through the dark
Shades of amber
And pink
Cracking through the morning clouds
Like modest wallpaper
Pealing away to reveal
The bright paint beneath.
When you travel with dawn — 
The day is awakening as you
Near your journey’s end
Gardens, fields and lawns
Become greener
With every passing minute
The world in movement
A state of flux — 
The day is on its way
You are on your way.
The whole sensation
That accompanies me
On trains — 
Feeling thoughtful and wise
Is heightened
With the sunrise
I’m a bit sad to arrive
To lose this perfect moment
Of being alone
On the platform of
Marylebone.
International
Women's Day
Today is dedicated to women
And the resilience they hold
Despite society
Putting them in boxes
And expecting them to do
As they’re told.
With every year I age
I feel more enraged
And it’s always there
In the wings backstage
This rage –
I think women
Are born with
Or perhaps collect
As we go through life — 
Every time a man
Talks over you at work
Or someone presumes
You’re just a wife
When films always objectify
Or the media pick
A new woman to vilify
When you’re catcalled
In the street by a stranger
And constantly feel like
You could be in danger
Or when you’re scared to
Walk alone at night
Worrying your clothes
Are too revealing or tight
(Because that would make it
Your fault)
Victim blaming
Slut shaming
Mansplaining
All of these daily
(yes daily) events
Feed into this rage –
In the book of
The female experience
It’s there on every page.
Or maybe lack of
Representation
Better explains
Female frustration
The gaps are cause
For concern:
From politics, to science
To Michelin chefs
Women are missing
At every turn.
The percentage of women
In boardroom seats
Is barely more than twenty
But when it comes
To women suffering
The stats are more than plenty.
Every two seconds around the world
A girl becomes a child bride
And in the past hour
At the hands of men
Six women have
Already died.
While it may be harrowing
It’s also very true
And though each of
Our struggles are valid — 
Make sure your feminism
Goes beyond you.
So to all the women I know
And the many I’ve never met
The women that paved the way
To whom we all owe a great debt
The women whose words and art
Have left a powerful mark
Who teach, inspire, and ignite
In others a spark
To channel this rage
Into a catalyst
For change
Tube Bae
You make the sliding doors
It’s hot and it’s stuffy — 
And you’re pushed against a coat
That’s very soft and fluffy
A quick glance up:
He’s all jaw and blonde hair
Your knees already weak
And you’re trying not to stare
But now you’re suddenly aware
Of how close your body is to his
Pressed up against one another
What strange intimacy this is.
He then takes a seat so you do too
And when your eyes meet
Across the carriage
They’re a startling shade of blue
The gaze lasts but a moment
Utterly discreet — 
Before he’s gone without
A second glance
Out the doors at Canon Street.
Senses of Lockdown
The feel of the Spring sun
On my skin
The smash of glass
As a neighbour empties
Their recycling bin
Children playing
In a garden nearby
And come 8pm
On Thursday
The sound of
Clapping fills the sky
The sight
Of my friends and family
On the screen of my phone
The sound
Of celebrities reading
The Philosopher’s Stone
The feel
Of the Spring sun — 
Warm on my skin
The sound
Of smashing glass
As I empty my recycling bin
The taste
Of oat cookies
It’s all I’ve learnt to bake
The sound
Of the blender
Making my morning milkshake
The voice
Of Google Home
Keeping me company
Throughout the day
But often misunderstanding
The music I ask her to play
The sight
Of rainbows in windows
When I walk to the park
And the colourful sunset
As I sit there til dark
The sound
Of children playing
In a garden nearby
And every Thursday evening
The sound
Of clapping
Fills the sky.
Boys Lie
I’m sick of comforting friends
Who’ve been in some way
Messed around by men
And every time I rule it out
As an anomaly –
It goes and happens again
The same advice being repeated
The affirmations that
“He’s a dick”
“You deserve so much better”
“Of men you can take your pick”
The hopes getting lifted up
The assurance that “no guys he’s nice”
But one minute he’s hot
The next he’s cold
And then he’s turned to ice.
The Jack Frost of Hinge
Everyone knows who I mean:
Joking about marriage one minute
Then saying he’s not that keen.
A friend texts me after another great night
Asking if I think it’s going too fast
And before I have time to reply
He’s a ghost of good dates past.
And we’re expecting normal
Functioning people
To keep up with this shit –
People who
Have jobs
And lives
And better things to do
Than reply to someone
Who can’t commit.
We’ve become so used to it
That we explain it with gender
But let’s be clear that “he’s a man”
Doesn’t justify this behaviour.
Now maybe it’s not a gender thing
And I’m only seeing one side
But these experiences seem
So universal
I’m confident it’s happening worldwide.
An Ode to the
Beer Garden
Oh pub –
As the sun shines
My heart pines
For a picnic table
On a patchy bit of grass
Sun glinting off my glass
As I hear my friends laugh
Nobody knows what time it is
Why would anybody care
Our only plan for the day
Was being right there
Another round of lagers
Beer’s never tasted so nice
Arms around your pals
As you give them shit advice
Reliving memories
And reminiscing on the years
Can’t help but feel the love
As you raise your pint
In yet another cheers
Everyone’s talking over each other
It’s always been this way
Can’t get a word in edgeways
You have to shout what you want to say
Eventually you’re accosted
For losing track of the rounds
Head back into the pub
To spend far too many pounds
Plunged back into the sunlight
From the longest ever bar queue
Order of discussion:
Whose hosting the BBQ?
That is
If we ever leave this pub
Just waiting for someone
To suggest
That we go on to a club
And let day roll into night
Stay up til first light
“Who the fuck bought me a Coors Light?”
As you hand out the drinks
Upon your return
Someone next to you asks
“Am I starting to burn?”
Nobody has cream
(Nobody ever has cream)
The group has little sympathy
It’s a recurring theme
Many hours later
After the drunken chaos
Of settling the tab
A general consensus is called
To forget the BBQ
And get a kebab
An organised friend ushers you out
As the patio loses its last rays
You wander back through the pub
In a sun-and-beer drenched haze
Life has never been better
And it’s only 8pm
You grab the friend nearest to you
And tell them you love them…
After months spent in quarantine
For my language I hope you’ll pardon
But the thing I can’t wait for most
Is being in a fucking beer garden.
Music
‘Our most inexhaustible
Source of magic’
No not words
As Albus Dumbledore
Once said — 
But music
Of course
The kind that
Sticks in your head
That stays on repeat
All day
The kind that
Begs you to stay
With its
Mesmerising tones
That you feel
Deep in your bones
That has the power
To plummet you
(Without permission
Or prior warning)
Into pensiveness — 
Into memories
You didn’t know
You’d kept
Recalled from the depths
Of your mind
A treasure to find
Like a kind of
Time travel
Via the words
That a stranger
Once wrote –
Or teleportation
From a single
Lingering note.