Santorini

Part 5 of 20 in ‘The Aegean Shores’ series

Into the caldera at dawn
Golden tinge to the sky
Santorini all around
with Thira way up high

Anchors weighed, we drift
The tenders to the sea
Ferries to the waiting land
Sheltered in the lee

Trespassers, delay and rhyme

Waiting for a railway train
to take me to my home
I’ll sit and write a poem
on the station on my own
It’s peaceful here, conducive
to find a little rhyme
and scribble down a verse or two
line by line by line

Return

When I  opened the door

It was like revisiting a book I had set aside

Trying to remember the plot and the main character,

Myself, and my part in the story

Departure

It all started with an idea 

manifesting

to a penciled entry on my calendar

Later changing to ink.

As the date drew closer and closer

Loose ends started appearing everywhere

Coming out of crevices

I didn’t know existed.

We Are Connected

Credit : my own : en route to America via Korea

Passengers on a journey to a place they must go
They talk about things no one else will know
Weave a story and maybe add some spice
To make their simple lives seem quite nice

Into the Wind (haiku)

Like the feathered flower
so the transient traveler
into the wind

Copyright © 2017 Linda Luna – All Rights Reserved
from Dark Side of the Moon

Rhythm of the rails

Rhythm of the rails
strikes a resonant chord
Music for the morning
and the commuter hoard
Newspapers folded
Tablets fired up
with caffeine boosters
from paper cup
Gathering momentum
into the Weald
Heading for London
through Sussex field

Into the sun

I’m heading east to Essex
It’s very wet out there
There are raindrops on the window
But I don’t at present care
For I am warm and dry
On a quiet commuter train
On my way to Southend Central
Quite protected from the rain

Travel & flowers

It’s going to be a busy week
and I’ll be travelling a lot
So I’ll not mind so much
if the weather’s not as hot
London now it’s Monday
Southend on the morrow
Then Lincoln Thursday morning
returning Friday when I’ll borrow…

Saturday Service at the Church of ING

Dank air, thick and heavy
As gaseous molasses,
lazily ferments in this amber rusted barrel
Of soulful blues and bad tobacco.

Faithful, old drunks slowly sway,
Inebriated from breathing kill-devil air.
They sing wailing gospels of woe
In harmony with Lucille on the record player.

Excited

I’m on my way to Gatwick
to board a big jet plane
which’ll take me up to Glasgow
on my travels once again

Flying

Flying over cities is glorious
London’s furnace reaching for the sky
The nested curving of Amsterdam canals

London

Sirens. Busses. Polluted air

Millions of strangers, none of whom care.

 

Hard-faced ladies. Unloving boys

Dirt. Construction. Non-stop noise.

Oval

The amazing oval ceiling
of the Corn Exchange in Leeds
Once famed for giving merchants
a place to barter seeds

M1 in Winter (Watford Gap 1 mile)

Mist enwrapped trees extinguish the low orange glow of the Sun
Taillights warm the twilight ahead
Headlights shine on traffic cones and road workers  jackets
Jagged shadows in a field reveal a ruined brick barn

Cardiff

Made my way to Cardiff
on a Sunday afternoon
Six hours on a railway train
views from hotel room
The city streets below me
Welsh and English on the signs
Old and new in contrast
amongst the ancient lines

Delays

Stuck on a train at East Croydon
We’re moving at one mile an hour
Looks like I’m going to be rather late
for my seminar in Euston Tower

London Buzz

Heading to London
it’s been quite a while
Yet, always a visit
elicits a smile
It still brings a buzz
every time I come here
with so much to see
and bring me some cheer

Connected

If there’s a way from x to y
The space in which points live and die
Is more or less connected.

Wadi Rum

Blood red are the bones of the desert
Russet red its dust

Big blue double-decker bus

Heading into Worthing on
a big blue double-decker bus
My transport for this morning
as there are no trains because
the buggers are on strike again
No Christmas spirit there
No sparkle and no smiles as
Southern Rail just do not care

Fourteen hours

Five thirty in the morning
and I’m out and on my way
It is cold and pretty brittle
at this early time of day
On a train that’s bound for London
warm and cosy here inside
Though my journey takes me northward
to West Yorkshire there I ride

Running Leaf Above the Moor

She says I am the leaf sent out to sail the air across the moor.

Quietude and Rolling are my calling, to be tossed and savaged
like the sea.

Respite is a foreigner, who gallops as a steed
far from my body, as if it were the conduit of its destruction.

Mystic Night

Key West Waterfront,

Moisty air, foggy Eve.

Lamp posts, soft lights,

Heading Home

I take the square window and fold it up,
Tuck it inside the small cupboard upon my left lung
And under my heart. The road is a leviathan’s tail
Serpentine across the North American continent,

Thankful and glad

We’ve had a lovely holiday
but it’s great to be back home
Back in Sussex by the sea
though many miles we’ve flown

Seville

We thought it was hot in Lisbon
but when we got to Seville
the mercury was climbing
above thirty-eight until
it peaked up there at thirty-nine
as we wilted on the street
and if it wasn’t for the water sprays
we’d have melted in the heat

Lisbon 36

It was thirty six in Lisbon
when we climbed up to St Jorge
An eleventh century castle
built by Moors above the gorge

But it was cool beneath the olive trees
inside the castle walls
taking pictures of the things we saw
and marvelling at it all