SWEET REVENGE

The following is a collection of poems written on the train commuting from Brighton to London where I was having to deal with crowded trains, stressed out human beings and a fast paced life where people seemed to care for only themselves. People can be so annoying sometimes! Instead of reacting to these situations verbally, and then stressing myself out, I would write about it in the form of poetry. And to thank the person for inspiring the poem, whether the words were of a good nature or a negative one, I would give it to them. It was my sweet revenge. I would always give them the original copy, and I would keep a copy so I could share it with the world. I was often pressed for time and nervous about giving them the poem but this only added to the excitement and drive for me to write. I believe words can fix problems and it is a much better tool than raising a gun to someone’s head. Wouldn't you agree?

London Burning

London, a fire was had,
Pita has now spread ,
People are sad and down
Their face showing a frown.

I leave here happy to go
A city so blocked and low,
Negative energy alive,
The spirit in such strife.

The black people give it life,
Style, rhythm helps it strive,
Treated as lower class,
A city that is going too fast.

Oh London you can stop burning,
Your stomach will keep on churning,
Drink peppermint tea to calm,
Open your heart and your palms.

England, not mother at all,
The feminine has taken a fall,
The power you yield is too much,
Let go of imperialism and create a new touch,

© 2005 MCARB

The Brighton to London Poet

City Life

Skies low, building high,
Smog thick, people die,
Congestion rules, traffic jam,
Tempers fly, doors slam.

Hectic city, patience low,
Crowds push, where’s the flow?
Population climbs, housing drops,
Weather changes, dying crops.

Rock bands play on, music made,
Children being born, people getting laid,
Nature holds its course to where,
Another world not far, a new creative flair.

Poets write, singers sing,
Fundraisers walk, door bells ring,
A time of change, a time of pace,
Heads held high, humility and grace.

These glimpses of hope do prevail,
Society erupts and does not fail,
Good and bad worlds collide,
Goodness shines, love and pride.

Skies low, building high,
Smog thick, people die,
Congestion rules, traffic jam,
Tempers fly, doors slam.

© 2005 MCARB

The Brighton to London Poet

Who Do You Think You Are

I enter the train exhausted and flat,
Passing a carriages where could I have sat,
Nowhere to go I see a seat with a bag,
Asked a man to move it, oh what a drag.

He says ;'it does not fit above',
But that's not the issue is it love?
I suggest moving it to the other side,
The look on his face was like someone had died.

He said I was rude,more polite I could be,
Didn't realise he was God higher than me,
Explained I was tired and sorry for that,
Continued to treat me like a low life rat.

His energy negative I decide to move,
To find a space with a little more groove,
A typical male I told him so,
But I now I realise, a powerless human with nowhere to go.

I send him happiness, love and care,
So he can see light and learn to share,
I do hope these words show him the way,
So he can smile fulfilling his day.

2005 MCARB
The Brighton to London Poet

Who do you think you are?

I enter the train exhausted and flat,

Passing carriages, where could I have sat?

Nowhere to go, I see a seat with a bag,

Asked a man to move it, oh what a drag.

He says ‘it does not fit above’,

But that’s not the issue is it love?

I suggest moving it to the other side,

The look on his face was like someone had died.

He said I was rude, more polite I could be,

Didn’t realise he was God higher than me,

Explained I was tired and sorry for that,

Continued to treat me like a low life rat.

His energy negative I decide to move,

To find a space with a little more grove.

A typical male I told him so,

But now I realise, a powerless human with nowhere to go.

I send him happiness, love and care,

So he can see light and learn to share,

I do hope these words show him the way.

So he can smile fulfilling his day.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2005 MCARB

Brighton To London

Brighton to London a daily chore,

Regular event at times a chore,

Things we do, momentum we keep,

Maintaining a lifestyle to laugh not weep.

Regular faces encounter we do,

Men in suits, women in blue,

Mainly white not very diverse,

Middle class people work they rehearse.

Two months I’ve been travelling so far,

A job in Brighton no need for train or a car,
London’s fumes my energy it feels,

The layers of my skin slowly it peels.

The landscape changes with every distinct season,

The mist now heavy close to Autumn the reason,

Summer ending England’s chill sets in,

The travelling will soon be glum not grin.

Brighton to London a daily chore,

Regular event at times a chore,

Things we do, momentum we keep,

Maintaining a lifestyle to laugh not weep.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2005 MCARB

How Dare You

A woman frustrated by someone else’s poverty,
Or perhaps annoyed at her own expense,
For the things she works hard to achieve,
The gap between rich and poor, a dividing fence.

‘How dare you’ she retorts to her,
‘Go work and earn your pay today’,
Yet this woman is poor and has no skills,
How can she work like how you say?

Do you realise that not all people have had,
A life so fortunate like you and I,
For this woman struggles to get by each day,
And you seem blind to her melancholic cry.

How does her poverty affect you so?
Your wealth has made opinion you core,
And by doing so you contribute,
To the widening gap of the rich and poor,

Next time this happens to you my lass,
Be grateful for what you have achieved,
Leave poor people alone to fight their battles,
Empower through silence not what you conceived.

‘How dare you’ I say back to you,
Judge a poor person’s life over yours,
‘How dare you’ I say, can’t you see,
That compassion goes far from you and me.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2006 MCARB

Respect

I came on the train his tunes turned up loud,
It seemed to bother a somewhat conservative crowd,
He was asked to turn his music down,
Preteens and stubborn he rejected with a frown.

The girl beside me and I explain respect,
He partially listens to our polite request,
Before we know it he turns up the dial again,
Disturbing Anglo-Saxon people on the train.

The next thing that happens train guards board,
And people start shouting to remove him, oh my lord!
Out of hand and control this situation has risen,
What do they want to send him to prison.

In his defence we make sure he is okay,
And ensure he stays on so he’s safe in the day,
To travel to his destination on time,
And not be harassed by people so unkind.

A beautiful boy life’s limits he tests,
Pushing boundaries he does his best.
To the girl I travel with I thank her so,
For together we managed to be his friend not foe.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2005 MCARB

Under My Skin

Negative energies sit under my skin,
A battle with positivity it tries to begin,
Weighing me down a heaviness I bare,
Making me feel like I really don’t care.

An oil assists in bringing it out,
To ensure the battle is won with no doubt,
Exhaustion creates a breakdown in aura,
Creating a blindness to all fauna and flora.

Pure light my soul rests wanting tranquillity,
To hear the peaceful waves of crashing sea,
To see rays of sunlight beaming afar,
To taste the brightness of above’s shining star.

I am a wanderer by nature my name,
Meeting strangers and lost souls can be the game,
Protecting my aura is essential to thee,
The game can blind and burden oh me.

Under my skin an energy dark matter,
Its atoms and particles so clever to scatter,
The toxins it breeds and manifests anger,
Leaving me vulnerable and open to danger.

Rise from the fall white energy to surface,
Eradicating evil forces and highlighting goodness,
An ancient battle of extreme polarities,
Golden chambers hidden secrets its keys.

Unlock pandora’s decorative box,
Of hope and joy no more scandalous fox,
Past memories that haunt and block thy heart,
Let go of black sheep and make a new start.

A new road a new path I now can walk,
The dialogue of past I no longer talk,
For the future holds a brand new dream,
When life is viewed for how it must seem.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2005 MCARB

Japanese Tale

He enters the train and sits his favourite spot,
By the window first carriage is his lot,
He reads Big Issue and a Japanese tale,
And wears his glasses and sleeps as quiet as a snail.

I saw him yesterday and noticed his book,
An epic story of courage a woman she took,
To escape oppression poverty and shame,
Her heart did guide her and lead her to fame.

To work he travels a briefcase in toe,
Filled with papers instructions they show,
His head is needed to complete his tasks,
Whilst his heart fights off capitalistic sharks.

A wedding band his finger he wears,
A loving wife at home he does care,
The breadwinner perhaps he works so hard,
And at Valentines he send wife flowers and card.

I wish this man happy thoughts and every success,
For his efforts will be rewarded for his utmost respect,
May your heart continue to be filled with peace today,
And enlightened you feel to guide your journey, your way.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2005 MCARB

Addiction

He comes on the train smelling of smoke,
Does he realise the impact on his fellow bloke,
The smell it causes so revoltingly bad,
And the harm it generates to his heart so sad.

The paper he reads a sportsman it seems,
Football he follows and England cricket his team,
His chest in infected he coughs to show,
And tobacco his addiction he is full of woe.

Smoking a pastime to fill the gap,
Avoiding life’s real breath and whaling crap,
For addicted to a substance nasty and cruel,
Can he not see that it’s a choice for a fool.

I hope one day that he sees the light,
And he opens his heart so his eyes are more bright,
Filling his life with a natural pure way,
And gives up tobacco this is my message today.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2005 MCARB

Morning Light

Morning light, so clear and bright,
Water oil, clear skies a sight,
Tranquil sounds leaves so green,
To the eye it glistens oh sweet scene.

Morning light, smells so pure,
Everything appears oh so sure,
Movement smooth and all very calm,
Skin so soft with oil and balm.

Morning light, please stay all day,
Guide us through our path and way,
To leave would feel so obsolete,
Help us with our daily feat.

Morning light, I love thee so,
Although I know that you must go,
Yet one thing remains very true,
Tomorrow I see your light shine through.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2005 MCARB

The Onion’s Peeling

Now that I am clear of toxins
And see the world much clearer,
My view of those who still are blind,
Makes me feel intolerant and very unkind.

This is not how I would like to be,
For my heart wants to stay open,
Yet detox isolates you so much,
I want to keep my special touch.

With only a little more than one week to go,
Where do I go from here,
Everyone seems to be on a different path,
Whilst I oil my body and take Epsom salt baths!

This has been my life for five weeks,
A commitment I made and followed through,
Feel pleased to be so close to completion,
Yet trepidation creeps in with a feeling of depletion.

For I am now closer to the truth,
A self knowing that comforts and protrudes,
A feeling anxious that tears apart,
My foundation of illusion that has comforted my heart.

Remove the foundation and what is left,
The core self, the id and super id,
My mind, body and soul now tri-connect,
The detox is in total force and effect.

I love the feeling of natural highs,
I wish the rest of the world could see,
To share with me the joyous feeling,
And free yourself, the onion’s peeling.

Dark matter is a powerful force,
It controls your feelings, actions and thoughts,
Light energy and anti-matter can prevail,
I have released my toxins to tell the tale.

Thank you to those who have helped me,
The detox queen and my lady beetle friend,
Your patience and humility is valued so,
Your healing presence my love to show.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2005 MCARB

Funky Glasses

He wears dark glasses and a suit,
Young and sexy delicious as fruit,
I’ve not seen him here before,
Does he travel to Brighton, what for?

Alone he travels with pen and paper,
Has he come from a tall skyscraper,
He looks not like a business man,
Perhaps in fashion, a designer he can.

Whatever his profession, a mystery he is,
Unable to read him like a magazine quiz,
In his own world, he is quietly asleep,
Meditating peacefully or just counting sheep.

His glasses are totally with the funk,
And his good looks make him a bit of a spunk,
I hope he knows he has a special charm,
And a disposition of peace and calm.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2005 MCARB

A World Free

Will this world ever become,
A world free from violence and glum?
Important to listen, open your heart,
Let go of attachments, and make a new start.

Understanding and compassion, traits we must sow,
Nurture the soul let go of what we know,
For knowledge of the mind can cause so much pain,
And so often is used in spite and disdain.

Concrete jungle, technology abundant,
Oxygen is lacking, everything is pungent,
Smell the flowers, where have they gone?
A place so free where the sun has shone.

A violent free world I so wish for,
No conflict existing, no crushing law,
Where people trust their fellow friend,
Perhaps this could be a future trend.

Idealist perhaps, no harm in that,
Moneyless society, a witch and her cat,
No more burning, women must be heard,
They will make a difference, it’s in the written word.

The Brighton To London Poet

© 2005 M.C.A.R.B

Six Weeks

I must stay strong, finely even,
Maintain the focus, keep believin’
This is your body, soul and mind,
No more toxins for once it pined.

You are close to truth and resolution,
Energies shifting, fading pollution,
New hope for my future I now see,
To explore creativity a person to be.

My future holds a new beginning,
The lion roars a tune she’s singing,
Proud achievement completing six weeks,
Richness abundant like Arabian sheiks.

The end is near letting go of fears,
Its time to celebrate no more tears,
A joy she feels delighted in self,
Ready to fly encompassing life’s wealth.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2005 MCARB

Sweet Perfume

A couple they sleep arm in arm,
Peacefully in love they cause no harm,
Pure love its beauty at its best,
They cuddle tightly and make their nest.

They dream of happy times together,
Happy to support each other and smother,
Two souls connect as one in harmony,
They travel side by side in comfort they will be.

I wish them happiness and true love,
To continue to see things from high above,
Be proud for you have a special place,
Your bodies connect with rhythm and pace.

You show the world love is possible,
Your cup is whole and very full,
What lovely energy you both exhume,
Like pretty flowers and sweet perfume.

The Brighton To London Poet

© 2005 MCARB

Pink Not Blue

He comes on rushed and very late,
An oh so flustered and kaotic state,
He helps himself to my belongings,
What a nerd, such grave misdoings.

He did not even pardon himself,
For touching someone else’s wealth,
What makes him think he can do,
Inconsiderate bastard and impolite too.

Oh this world is made up so,
Of rushed and panicked, bad and woe,
Unaware and ignorance bliss,
For he not knows pure love and kiss.

I asked him nicely to touch not to,
His defences rise, cranky and blue,
A simple request went unheard,
He cannot fly, broken wings of a bird.

He then continues to be a shit,
His actions smelling a hairy armpit,
He drops his bag on my feet,
A lovely way for a morning greet!

I find a seat, nice and quiet,
And a beautiful woman with a healthy diet,
Its often men who make me feel,
Come on you jerks what is the deal.

The power game is oh so wrong,
It’s weak and dumb, not too strong,
Grow up boys, the world needs you,
To make this place bright pink not blue.

The Brighton to London Poet

© 2005 MCARB