Suspended from a fleece gossamer field Sheep are conveyed through interest Dissolved past Kings Sutton I awake A gossamer steam of Mocha And as though from a dream, Heyford shines reality: cows Spotted with sourceless sun Beyond the platform, frameless webs hedge trees. The organic day lights Tackley with defined lines and a vague history Throwing trebuchet thoughts from telegraph lines It is light, but the cows spot trouble Lying laughs of rain the mist cedes granularity Dull water snakes bridges Fields bake housing estates Sun shorn sheep hide in white Vague intentions of Sit or Stand The mist hisses through the train And I am gone to London To my Sit or my Stand or my Lunch or my Gone. Let us take our Caravans As the sun is caught in its hammock bed Vague like me, content to graze On the indistinct pleasure of being. Let us take our sidings Pile up our hopes Slurred down slopes unhurried by fear. London, but in brown beige blocks Resides not here, but hangs like threads Of beer, seams of Oxford near. Oxford brings hissing suspicion Busy in its anticipation of deeds not done I am not alone. I know next before having left; I am presentient. Mock a cold dull glow Pink tendrils breathe life virulently But I am forthright in my onwards journey; Lines may diverge but they all tell stories - Mine today, a sentry to be defined. Let the flocks come with me to Radley They coast the inland haze Current with the day, curving intent Above, lazy rollercoastering play People pass away. Bags of ballast molest my eyes. Come on Cullum, is this the best you have? Sky blue blubber encompasses handlebars Arse sunk, goodbye rude slave. Green is the two by four in Appleford So close to Cullum they could be joined The progeny might be uncomfortable But bundled between these tufted shores Only envy scoffs the scuff of these green loins I espy the shut hut of Didcot Parkway Volcano A went away to dream of hot latte. Smile, my friend as you learn to stand still Your pressed suit prepares you well for your journeys. I am free now to see the sliding glee of new days Each person hand steams their personal space Pressed to intention, joined in this way I will see you, or those like you In the whistleless city, you must move your own day. Too long to linger, Didcot Parkway. I victory salute a flush of wind Not affrayed by slight freight delays. Now the flare of day defines all horizons Still vague houses pine for rows of fleet fun Ring out the bell of endless warehouses The supermarket plays once work has been done. Oh sweet joy! Cholsey sings of Free Wi Fi! White gates flank black pyramids that just fly by. Still waters reflect the sky constancy While a traveler fields chest high thoughts Cleaving through tracks he once wrought Previously, carefully, ponderously, seasonally. Goring & Streetley fleetingly pass Like some ancient manufacturer of charms I am past the white cliffs of Pangbourne Whose tangs of rich history have passed. High speed train, high speed train we must praise thee As we chunter past pylons and court Uncommon sights of two dogs on smooth green We barge current canals with light thoughts. Tilehurst sings Henley praises through ad libbed tiles Though it teems the wide Thames for glistering miles Tracks wind then conjoin with smiling turned wiles Reading ahead the amassed siloed piles. I am siding with pylons that flank the great seer They may be vernacular but at least they are here This box grey with hope will dash scree within That wears down washed dreams that never begin. Twyford in twilight pits purple on green But here in the morning, twirls pillars through leaves I tunnel through thoughts of a Knight and fair Maiden Head off the grey brown with Industrialization. Dear maiden, dear maiden, oh where can you be? Past Buddleia banks and sidings of green. Your great swathes of bodies suggesting affray Please think of me kindly as they turn you away. No silvering surface, no cool white repose; The Burnham heat as steady she goes The points of pure ego that stare down through slough The jostle of tube life will soon be enough. Desolate tomatoes and non Bon Iver Silo-steeped sidings share green sleek fixed care Let stations upon stations be left far behind Our mind sets to trading bear hopes to unwind... Dealings kill Feelings kill Gossamer lines. Simon Huggins, 7th August 2014 Notes I caught the very very indirect train to London one ethereal misty day, but it turned out to be a voyage of fleeting discovery…