I Saw A Man Neath A Bridge

Inspired by Anda Lucia

I saw a man neath a bridge

Dug in snug in a ditch

A creature full of hope

A man like me

Full of undending dreams

That only he could see

A man with bare blue andalucian sky above him

And a clogged southern stream for his ragged robes

A torn matress for a bed of hopes

And a limp the doctors refused to cover

I met a man of culture

Immersed in the canvas of a dry river bed

Surrounded by walls plastered in sketches Picasso could never conjure

But in nightmares and torrents in some dystopian dream

A man neath a bridge with Michelangelo’s blue before his sandy eyes

A doctorate from the school of life

This mans steps are poetry in the script of life

An unsung Shakespeare neath a bridge

Whose tales will be told two thousand years on

By a generation that baulks at the fallacy of disregarded poets

Left to rot and mould, crumble and fall

Under the fierce Andalucian sun

Under a bridge trampled on by kitsch cats of the social elite

Run ragged by their crisis and their strife

Bent, broken, put to shame by a man under a bridge




Photo : Allan Kortbaek


We shall dream and dance

For I have dreamed, and danced, laughed, cried, laughed some more and dreamed again. Another day, another revolving frame.

I’ve watched the best fall from their crest, watched the moon rise from the fickle flames of the departing day.

I have seen the sharpest minds of my generation crumble and crash; melt away like sand pillars in the Sahara

I’ve seen fingers pointed, stones hurled, dictators ousted, oligarchs substituted.

I have hurt my mother the earth, harmed myself by spectating from the amphitheater of society. I have laughed and dreamed and danced on this spectacular stage turned molten by the state of crisis

watched the greedy get hungrier, seen the hungry starve and the opulent flourish.

Now, all that’s left are words and stanzas, paper frames, paper planes and the falling confetti shreds of dreams already danced, already departed.

I have been in Eden, partaken in its abundance

watched rogue elements wreak havoc on good people and come to the indefinite conclusion that there must be a reason why we are all still here.

For we shall dream, laugh, dance and cry another day, another departing hour.



The Infinite Train Track Rolls On : A Portrait of Spain

The train track rolls on infinite

The woes and whims of an entire nation subdued

By the weight of an entire peninsula

Locked away from the billowing shades of darkness that whistle past with every jolt

The wind at bay, my thoughts astray

Spread thinly across the central Iberian underworld like pale ash in the river of Eden

Hopes, dreams, aspirations asphyxiated by the ways of the world and the rumble of rails and coins

These days all they talk about is life as a crisis, a faded shadow of a forgotten form

A formidable giant laid to rest in the swaying, swerving mass beneath the sewers and piping

Next stop, the port of the South, exit unknown, destination vague

The world outside is as dark as the indomitable underworld

Lit  by the embers of a few flickering hopes of a few unfaltering souls

This is the light I intend to walk in

The shades of the shadows tamed

Like the gentle waves of a twlight ocean

My fears culled, social hysteria quelled

For tomorrow a new horizon beckons

From golden shores and shimmering sands


Note found on the Madrid underground: ” Greetings Ladies and Gentlemen, I am a poor girl, I’ve got a child. I don’t have a job and I’m begging for help to help put food on the table for my child. Many thanks”