Fork in the Road, Words by Alan Whitfield

So this is the beaten track
I’ve turned the corner now
Time etched in rock
3 figures of feet below me

Green stagnant pools
Hung over by gulls
I’m looking down
Birds give me perspective

I’m thinking about what?

What was their?
Lines in rock?
all that’s gone?
Still Undulating gulls flock.

Far away in vast abyss
Hi-vis calls Grampian tone
breaks the gaze…

No i’m alright?

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A poem of my new found dislike of flying.

I’m not sure when i decided i didn’t like flying. I think the boredom makes me think too much about it. The sea, however off the coast of the U.K looked beautiful. Also flying over southend pier (Britan’s longest pier) was a moment to savour the sheer length of it. A strange set of circumstances…


Blue cheese ripple.
Layered black island.
Is there direction.

Outer heat flares,
Cold hands moisten.
When did it happen,
This alien fear.

Grim tin can,
Led by men.
No clean air.

All gone now.
Looking like linen,
Too there and back.
Covering many stories.


Secret Location for #helfagelf

So I’m all packed and ready yo depart for Sicily tomorrow morning. However last night i had a bit fun projecting in a secret location for something i am doing for Helfa Gelf at the end of the years. it will involve 1960’s cine film projection and my words. It was a long night waiting for it to go dark but the results were worth waiting for.



A tease of the finished results can be seen here                                                                      …





Train in Scotland



A slightly light-hearted look at my trip around Scotland on the train captured on my i-pad. The footage is outside of Glasgow.

Rannoch moor Home of Corrour railway station were Trainspotting was filmed. On to Fort William, Mallaig then

the bus to Inverness via Loch Ness and Urquhart Castle. And finally off down the east cost from Aberdeen to Edinburgh

Corrour Station
Corrour Station (Photo credit: jk_scotland)


On leaving my car

On leaving my car


Pulling close to the curb.

They drop for drives like dolphins at play.

The Gary tarmac stained as snow fell.

Coming close are two stories,

disheveled and apart like a broken hart


Trouser legs with the last inches missing,

whitish socks, no plats in the matted locks.

Like a charcoal drawing that’s been smudged with a hand,

the smile has gone and eyes deprived.


Leading the chase some meters head,

inconveniencing him, he thinks of 3.30 at chesptow instead.

No gentle whisper just bellows!

The cold old wind gives the school bell some soul.


One I can’t respect.

The other I try to connect.

What was said behind closed doors,

maybe hug packed lunch or love.

The snow still falls,

they pass bye,

hello, goodbye, good luck


Outside of Goldfish Bowl Poem by AlanWhitfield

It shows a distorted view of a goldfish in a g...
It shows a distorted view of a goldfish in a goldfish bowl. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


This is about going to Australia boy and coming back of a man


What does that mean!
I planned the landing,
James sang.


That light took me back.
Walking to get out,
Miles in sun,
Ha, if I had a gun…


Never worked out what I had done!
The small print said fun.
You never really won
The Irish women was fun.


Calculated and out done.
You won yet to no-one.
Long gone…



Past tents; A poem by Alan Whitfield


Past tents

Fabric fear black skies near.
Dropping like a million pins.
Itching at silence.
How many rain drops fall in an hour.

Tried and testing.
Once again internal questioning.
Self confidant and perfect.
Is it really worth it.

Mental pictures bully the mind.
Self directed over complicated.
Soul assassinated festive time

Just the one(ce).