Trains in Spain

 The trains in Spain

Crash mainly on the plain

Now why is that?

Railway dreams

 I remember when we used to

cycle across the railway bridge

With friends

Down the road from Ashcott

And the walk through the glens

And hanging greenery

That was the woodland there

All is gone, or have I moved on?

What remains is just a memory

In my mind's ear I hear

The steam trains shuffling

Whistling clear

their boiler bellies puffing

And yet I know the end of the track is coming

And yet I know I'll follow it to the sea

Burnham and Highbridge

Try to launch ourselves

Across the Severn estuary

We have no chances

Just to be swept up

And drowned in the wash

Still there's the hope

We could catch a boat

And make it to Cardiff or Penarth

And we could keep going

Because the end of the line

Is so far off

Perhaps it's a lie

But it's a good one

I wish to tell myself

That we can reach the end

Of the rainbow

That there's a future

Worth thinking of

The Heart of Wessex

 Haul away to Salisbury

I'll not be back today

We load the stock

With brick and rock

And Quarrying we may

Well Johnny's on the line ma

He's a rolling car

The buds are blooming in the sidings

The broom and Buddleia

They get on board at Weymouth

They alight thar at Frome

And by the time of Castle Cary

Well there wasn't any room

They've been a holidaying

Down the Heart of Wessex line

But it's alright, the car is tight

Johnny's rolling all the time

Well haul away to Salisbury

And back to Cattistock

We hit bad weather 

At Marston Magna

And Rolled back to West Radstock

Now nevermind Bathampton

Westmoreland or Bath Spa

It's Limpley Stoke

With the Freshford folk

Who'll climb into his car

He never knew a girl before 

Like the one from St Anne's Park

She could quick draw

And from her maw 

She drew a big dog's bark

It was called the Heart of Wessex

the beating Vena Cava

The artery, the pulmonary

The vein and semi quaver

If ever there was a left leg

They'd call it Weymouth Quay

If ever blood went to their head

In Temple Meads they'd be

Now here's the heart of Wessex

A pumping people home

Up and down the West Country

From Salisbury to Frome

Now speaking of a right hand

Across to Clevedon pier

Upon the Cheddar Valley line

All drinking Strawberry beer

Upon the Great Western Railway

Isambard Kingdom Brunel

He built the bridge across the Avon cliffs

Johnny knew him very well

Now Johnny comes a walking

Down the tracks that he once rolled

The tunnels where he blew his whistle

Along strawberry hills he strolled

Now the beating heart of Wessex doesn't

Pump no more of his blood

But the tracks that once held his stacks

Are now covered in his mud

Yes Johnny's in the cab

Shovelling the coal

And he's the steam of fires seen

As the rolling stock does roll

And the body is not working

But it's still living mind and soul

And the ghost of Johnny Firkin

Still hauls down on the Wessex roll

Rich man

 30 years

Of trying to go my own way

30 years, 30 years

 And you put a big fence in my way

And it is thirty years away

But it still could have been yesterday

Railroad man Jonny

Steamroller away

Steam roller , heavy roller

The Ash trees sway

The wind blows through the tunnel

And the hours fall away

30 years tomorrow could've been yesterday

Who is the rich man

Falling on the pile

Another Mink lined coat

Another mill-a-mile

Burning up the cotton

treading down the yarn

Only railroad Jonny could do him any harm

Rich man, rich man

Won't you give away some wealth

You know I am a poor man

And it's not good for my health

I'd like to be a rich man

With my hands on the controls

But on the path to the top you must

climb many a greasy pole

Can you blame a rich man

For all the money he stole

If he stands upon the poor man

To see his dollars roll

And will this railroad reach him

Or will his pit black soul

Be as dark as a railway tunnel

Where the trains no longer roll

Building bridges or barriers

 30 years across a divide

Territorial suicide

If you see us let us go

How sweetly grow the snow drops

In the New Year's snow

30 years of treading walkers

Dogs on leashes and deer stalkers

Treading softly never stops

Over the hills of the Snow drops

Where you put your barriers down

Where you lay your claim to this town's

Hopes and dreams, her fields and streams

You cut in belts of Green and Brown

But you who judge and deem, and measure

Across our land it seems at your leisure

Saying this is ours and that is yours

Is one good way to start some wars

And if you should let greed rule your heart

Then throw away your beauty and art

For nothing sacred can be understood

Unless to live in peace in your own neighbourhood

And nothing built shall be bound

Unless by the folly of those around

Crossing bridges

 The railway embankment rises

From behind the gardens of the estate

A long corridor of brambles and green leaves

The pale, pastel barks of the Ash saplings

That still sprout and grow vigorously

Goldfinch carousel about the branches

Each limb is like a path to another town

Another bud is ready to burst into life

But now waits in earnest expectation

Of the spring

Biding its time

On the Strawberry line

I am conflicted, in two minds

Because on the one hand we are bringing

access to the countryside, linking up

the hubs and nodes like a network

Of underground roots

And on the other these natural corridors

will inevitably be somewhat diminished

By the human wish to spread its own branches

To feed its own systems of growth

And repair its own faulty pathways - the roads

Industrial, smoke breathing cars

That flash and wizz past the parapet of the 

Once-bridge below

They will resurrect this bridge back from the grave,

And like an old giant remembering

Something of the spirit of the railways

Will come alive again

As people will walk their dogs along it

Will cycle their bring-a-bring bikes

and maybe the hedgehogs and squirrels

And scurrying things, will likewise

Cross the bridge and discover new worlds

beyond the boundary of the road 

Tunnel vision

 The dirge was heard

In an echo

Of faceless voices

Down the tunnel escaping choices

On a single track minded train

Robber barons, and braids are framed

In forget me not knots

That tie down your friends

On the rails, down the line to freedom

Some signal man says you must change tracks

And hoops are thrown, like star jacks

To catch on the back of my hand

Like maps

I know so well, yet there's something I lack

A compass stored away

A needle on my lap

To follow the flow of flowers

down wild winding tracks

I see the gods of Ash collapse

In the leaves of their prayers

Their devotees, picking through snapped branches

Like grasping knobbly fingers of old witches

The skeletons of women trees

Who's men folk have wandered too far

Skeletons soon to be but ashes

Strawberry lines

 Sharpen the billhooks and rev up the saws

Slash the nettles and bend the stalks

That's what we do in the Great Outdoors.

burn the brash with our pitchforks

 

Cut down the vine and stamp on the stump

Break up the stone with a sledgehammer

Pull up the roots and on bare earth thump

Ram in the fence post with a post rammer

 

Raze the old tree, fell it to the ground

Hack with pick axe and with mattock pound

Then when you’ve dug plant a sapling sound

Keep filling with saplings all the holes around

For that’s what we do in the Great Outdoors!

So sharpen the billhooks and rev up the saws

 

Strawberry liners

 

Sharpen the billhooks and rev up the saws

Slash the nettles and bend the stalks

That's what we do in the great outdoors

burn the brash and pitch in with our forks

Cut down the vine and stamp on the stump

Break up the stone with a sledgehammer

Pull up the roots and on bare earth thump

That's what we do in the great outdoors

Hack at the trunks and call the Jackdaws

Raise that old tree trunk, fell it to the ground

Mash up the muddy swamp and flash up the sound

The railway rations are coming back into fashion

That’s the Strawberry line volunteer’s passion

We are the Strawberry line volunteers

We'll be glad if you can lend us your ears

And listen to our song

It won't last for very long

4 hours of work a day on all fours

Crow the shrill rooks and caw the Jackdaws

That’s the Strawberry line volunteers outdoors

 

 

Bring up the dilapidated ruins of rails

Resurrect those uninhabited homes for the snails

Pull up old fence posts cut off barbed wire

And throw it all on top of our burning fire

 

4 hours of work, and nine of contemplation

Don’t sleep on the job for there’s no compensation

Lay down the runners let them have fun

Shine on Strawberry fields under the sun

 

  The railway line was bombed-out neglected

dog-eared and worn

Run down and scrubby, 

Moth eaten and brown

Hack at the trunks and scrape at the stone

Trudge through the mud up to shin bone

Break up the ice and burn all the brash

That’s what volunteers do on Shepton's mash

 

Run down the augurs and drill like thunder

Dig on dig on until you discover what’s under

The bed rock the stiff stock of railway stash

That’s what Strawberry liners do with your cash

 

 

Viaduct

 To the viaduct

Go walking

On the long wet rainy days

With your dog in the forking

Of the long hot summer hays

And Dripping with rememberance

Of a past now left behind

When railways and Steam engines

Crossed the valleys of our minds

And all the strawberries travelled and all the red currants

Too

Like blood and diamonds in parcels

From the mines of South African fruit

And the empty arches standing

As a door stop in our minds

Leaving open the door to the past

And passage way to a time 

before

Though we know it does not last

The disease of greed

 There is a disease and it rises in the tide

And it coughs in the nation

And is spread by the pride

The gods are taking over

And the wild wind blows

In the railway sleepers 

It lies in the throes

It seeps in the heart

From your head to your toes

It gets in your blood

Before you even knows

It's the enemy of love

It's a canker on the rose

Its like the nectar of Gods

And people are the bees

But if it gets in your blood

Then it will make you bleed

Because you've stood on it where you trod

It's the disease of greed

And they push and they shove 

From Suffolk to Greece

They will push out love

It'll wage war in place of peace

And as everyone knows

Wickedness never will cease

You've got it and it shows

The disease of greed

It shows in your face

Your smiles they crease

The little slip of a dove

Carrion crows of unease

They shelter above

In the crown of the trees

But you've got nowhere to go

When you've got

The disease of greed

When you're caught between desire

And the path of the priest

It's like being trapped between

The Devil and the deep blue sea

Keep well your garden

And hoe down the weed

Before its grip starts to harden

In the disease of greed

Counting the miles

 I was travelling on the Orient Express 

Working as a stoker to earn my passage.

I wanted to get to Istanbul,

But we stopped off in Budapest

Then Bucharest

The rest is history

 

Well somewhere about Cluj Napoca

A strange man walks on board

A little stiff

Like he had a splint for a neck

He sits down

Calling himself The Count

I think I heard this one

before

But the thoughts don't mount

 

Soon the passengers start dropping like flies

I don't know the body count

But it was pretty high

And they all seemed to have been given

Two inoculations to the neck

The anti-vaxxers said

That was just what they'd expect

The vaccine is a killer

Well, the truth is far from that

For when he alighted from the train

I noticed the Count was rather fat

"There are more calories in a pint of blood he said

Than in a pint of beer, did you know?"

I said "I didn't know that, no",

Then he said "And who might you be young man?"

Well who is it who wants to know who I am?

Count Vlad said he, as meek as a lamb

Indeed you see he was a Siam

Or perhaps a twin of one who came from Japan

"Well of course then kind gentleman Sam

My trade is Stoker and my name be Bram"

"Unusual", said he "for such name to travel

One had thought it would stay home on the gravel"

And not gravy and stir the newly passing year

Well said I, I heard Istanbul is nice about now

I'd like to see the Blue Mosque and circle the prow

I'd like a dip in the Bosphorus and to see and delight

In the Turkish city's quarters in the midst of the night

 

"I too", said the Count "would like to explore that foreign world

Which is why I have travelled with gold and with pearls

You see a lifetime of living has set me quite dead

With the hum drum voices of pageantry and dread

I've heard too many screams and too many calls

To fill my dreams like a nightmare's halls

And instead, I want to drift down consciousness' stream

And out to Xanadu with the restless bream

I want to let go of this Romanian Rowel

I want to throw the dice, let them fall where they fall

Will you gamble with me friend come and seek out a night?

For in the shadows, they are hiding my Turkish delights"

 Well, I said "Count if you promise to behave

I'll go along quite easy though I'm not looking for my grave

I wish to have some fun and paint the town pink

With that he bit a currant bun, and I watched his teeth sink

In quite deep and noticed their length

I thought to myself now Bram how unusual their strength!

They seemed to be capable of biting through a shoe

With that I commented "Count, I'll see what I can do

When I get off at Istanbul, I’ll get cleaned up then find you."

“A deal it is” he said it kind of sly

And I thought I could see the glint of a silver moon in his eye

But now I thought I'd leave it and turned back to stoke the boiler

One day I thought I'd write a book and don't want to tell a spoiler

 

So that was how me and the Count we got well acquainted

I must say I found his ways quite strange, a little antiquated

But none the less we made it some twenty hours later

Across the Bosphorus strait, that lovely stretch of water

And the heady lights and sounds of Istanbul bit us like a bug

As like more passengers seemed to drop dead in the grip of a death hug

I counted myself lucky to have made it with the virus going round

And as I stepped off the sinking ship, I felt like the last rat who hadn't drowned

 

Istanbul was pretty amazing in its ways, the sights and sounds of markets

The smells wafted up in a maze,

I felt lost and found all at once, and gladly fell into deepest slumber

As the stars they whirled in wonder

Around and round

The fires grate was spitting, when revived I came to sitting

And remembered of my promise to the Count

It seemed so strange yet fitting, to be here with one so noble

Yet my brow was knitting as to how me and him might dance the paso doble

Brown River Gentle

Frog swims slow in the midday sun

Ducks paddle low in bank shadow then are gone

All the spring goes in and out with the tide

Brown river flow gentle, gentle

Bittern blow their bottle-neck boom

Herons shuffle the Egrets for room

Moor hen nestle their nests with pride

Brown river flow gentle, gentle

Water turns in pools mercurial and blind

The Ash burns in the Sun, the willow wills the wind’s mind

Water boatmen doing back-stroke from side to side

Brown river flow gentle, gentle