Directions/Misdirections by Barry Tebb

I sit inside the train of tears

The station mellow in shade

Unoriginal phrases air-brush the canvas.

Puzzling minds I wonder

If all are like my own

Closed to stillness.

From girders hang the acrobats of gone

Pearl grey Whistlers. We sat on

A train like this once, you and I,

Face to face but travelling

In opposite directions-

Or was it you alone I watched depart,

Stood on the platform edge, anxious and alert?

by Barry Tebb

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Our Son

To The Sound Of Violins


Infamous Poet

Pulled From A Life Some Leaves

In Harm’s Way

Coming To Terms With Schizophrenia

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