Class poem inspired by the singing bowl (2008)

The echo resounded clear across the valley

 As he banged the tuning fork with importance

Like Tintin in Tibet, white peaks resonating ting ting

Of monks prayer rituals and people’s happiness

Blessed is the moment of perfect sound

In mid air captured still, with black hair alive with the wind

Freudian, it slips out uninvited like untouchables

I walk alone these quiet streets

Searching for a sign of life

Ah! Escape from the sound of human voices

But then a sound like clangers on the moon

With tinny noises in their ears

Or a train that pulls in creaking on metal sleepers

Now the picture veers off, it is broken up

And the reels spin emptily

So the stranger wore a solomn expression

Pale grey shirt and black suit

Stood on an underground platform

He had just missed the last train

This thought is generally followed by

Something along the lines of ‘bugger’