glued to sticky surfaces

and no smoking signs.

Empty seats, scarred and slashed

All face the wrong way.

An old man sits

In crumpled, smelly garb

And talks to everyone

As they pass him by

To a safe distance.

A tattooed youth with greasy locks

Lights up,

Draws back

Throws the fag

To the eager faced old man.

“Thanks mate,” he grabs, fumbling, sucking, happy.

The youth thumbs up

And lights again.

Somber faces,

Quiet,

Click clack, slick clack,

Thoughts race silver rails.

by Dianne Simmonds

A lingering spirit –

Caught between two worlds

Tragically taken before his time

though sadly –

not ready to depart this earth

He stays in his past –

his spiritual presence still bound there

He must remain –

with his work unfinished,

He needs closure

Caught in a time warp –

He hopes to penetrate the mind.

the mind of someone aware of his presence

Someone receptive –

who will see that his work is done.

For only then will he be free.

Free to move on

Forward –

In peace to the Spirit World.

by Joy Hibberd

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