Audio: Coffee in the Cafe

Coffee in the Cafe now released in audio format:

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(c) 2006. All rights reserved.

Streetlamps

A pool of light in a darkened room.
The curtains drawn,
The latch turned,
One lanky lamp cowering
Above my head.
Safety.

I’m thinking of you.
I bet you guessed,
Watching tracks on the train,
Moving further away
Not even dreaming.
Fading.

It’s getting late.
I’d give hours of tomorrow,
To be the man you think of now
To turn your train around
Not knowing why you’ve come.
Hours.

Streetlamps below my window.
A thousand discrete pools,
Stretching from here to the sea.
Not alone and yet so lonely.
Remaining constant despite the passing nights.
Constant.

Pausing on Tower Bridge

Whose river this is I do not know,
Wandering through capital,
Yet unhurried by the tide,
Not bothered by high taxes,
Nor when interest rates will slide.

Th’incessant patter of the rain,
Which crumples suits,
And washes words from papers,
Swells his peaceful progress,
Whilst human traffic tapers.

The rising of the moon,
Which sets the city sleeping,
Casts a glow upon his way,
And slowly snaking with the flow,
Not begging for the day.

And so I stand upon the bridge,
No longer marching to the clock.
Instead I close my weary eyes and fly,
Upon that silent river,
And dream that Time has passed me by.

Balloons

The air is tightly strung,
Like a rubber sheet,
Inches above my head.

Each strike of the minute hand,
Strums the silence,
The reverberations beat against my ears.

Your entrance breaks the rhythm,
The tension snaps like a small boy’s balloon,
He looks up, and so do I.

We are suddenly aware of how quickly things can end.
You drift towards me,
And smile sadly.

I am left with a tear and a piece of string.