Stilled times and speeding trains.

Rushing backwards to you,
hundreds of miles of hours.
Through the greyed glass
all the clouds are layered
and distinct,
hiding the sky.

The people in their
oddly shaped houses,
their oddly shaped faces
looking not seeing.

This time is so tasteless
and bland, all those neutral
colours and corners.
Where are your subtle textures,
the slight minty coolness of your lips,
the warmth of your breast?



  1. alison · August 11, 2007


  2. zaphodfreek · August 12, 2007


  3. slynne · August 14, 2007

    I love the ending, and the beginning,,, and the middle. This is lovely

  4. zaphodfreek · August 14, 2007

    Cheers slynne.

  5. krkbaker · August 17, 2007

    I like how you begin with ‘rushing backwards’
    very clever.

  6. zaphodfreek · August 17, 2007

    Glad you noticed.

  7. theair · August 18, 2007

    very interesting piece, I particularly like how you gave tangible attributes to the intangible in the third stanza, and the descriptions throughout. I might suggest dropping ‘slightly’ in both instances (for brevity’s sake), but otherwise just about perfect. very effective.

    hope all is well

  8. zaphodfreek · August 18, 2007

    I took your advice
    at least on the first one.
    I think it’s better that way.
    I try not to repeat unless it’s very intentional.


  9. Kalliope Amorphous · August 21, 2007

    Beautiful poetry. I look forward to reading through more. Thanks for your visit to my site. 🙂

  10. zaphodfreek · August 21, 2007

    I’m glad.

    I’m going to add you to my blogroll so I can always keep a track of your posts.


  11. K.M. Ryan · August 26, 2007


  12. zaphodfreek · August 26, 2007

    Thank you

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