15 stops. 40 minutes. each day.

Month: March, 2014

I feel

That sometimes I want to write

even when I don’t have words to type

That sometimes I want to scream

even though it’s only a dream

That sometimes I want to run

even though it’s me who’s holding the gun

That sometimes I want to cry

for those who now know what it’s like to die

That sometimes I want to be patient

even though the delay makes me feel ancient

That sometimes, I want some times

just to feel.

bus stop

So..we have a problem.

I don’t get the bus to work any more.

I was thinking, it kinda makes the name/ethos of this blog


I drive now – a rise in my pay packet

and that I have a car means

I drive over the Harbour bridge every day.

Tunes blaring, foot to the peddle,

left foot just on the edge of the clutch,

ready to push it in, hold-hold- as I go around the corner,

quick check, look see

nothing coming

bang, slam it into 3rd, and push it around 

in the outside lane

around that gorgeous hairpin on to the bridge.

But I digress,





Creatives, huh?

Who’d be one??

I would.

And so my bus stops.

But i never will