Tube

2

Crazy-hair lady with guitar, funny hat
and a band.
Man dressed like quasi Ninja,
boots knee-high,
hair bandannad back,
iPhone engaged.
Tired girl,
teetering head,
shaking hand,
wearing Fight Cancer wristband.
Two pretty girls resting.
A couple?
Lesbian?
Who cares?
Sleeping,
dreaming,
side-by-side
on this Sunday tube ride.

The next station is Angel.
Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.
Mind The Gap.
Doors closing.
Beeb-beeb.


Credits:
Image – FR Lubbe
Text: FR Lubbe


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Coffee, right?

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You might think it’s nothing.
Just a cup of coffee,
right?
It’s not.
It’s more than that.

It’s not just beans,
dried and crushed
and purified
and ground
and perfectly brewed.
No, it’s more.
Right?

It becomes part of me
when I swallow it down.
It enters me
and stays inside,
Like the thoughts I have of you –
the ones I try to stop,
the ones I hide
because they hurt,
the ones that make me cry
and long for you.
The ones that’s bitter,
and no milk or sugar will ever mend.
The ones that haunt me
in the morning, noon
and all day long.

It’s not just a cup of coffee,
right?
It’s more than that.
Like you and I.
Right?


Credits:
Image – FR Lubbe
Text: FR Lubbe


The Ties That Bind Us

The things we gather.
The things we keep.
Like you, I’m burdened too
with the ties that bind us
and the things we think define us.

We hunt and hound.
For food.
For love.
But like this moment,
our hunger,
lust and even pain will pass…
’till tomorrow.

Like tears
or smiles
and kisses
the things we gather,
and the things we keep
don’t last forever.
They come as we request
and leave upon demand.

The ties that binds us
and the things we think define us
are born from you and I.
And when our need
no longer hurts
without polite or pardon
how quick do we discard
the flowers from our garden?

The things we gather.
The things we keep.
Like you, I’m burdened too
with the ties that bind us
and the things we think define us.


Credits:
Image – Little Red Shoes (FR Lubbe)
Text: FR Lubbe


It’s There…

5

(For Heidi – Thanks for your consistent inspiration)

It’s there when I wake up,
In my cup of coffee,
And my morning shower.

It’s on the bus,
It’s on the train,
And every waking hour.

It’s at the gym,
In my after dinner treat,
And my kiss good night.

It’s there when I sleep,
In every dream,
It’s there, but not quite.

It’s in my heart,
It has no shame,
And asks no pity.
It’s constant,
It’s brave,
It’s loyal,
And out of sight.

You may not even notice,
You may not even see,
And wouldn’t say,
But I wear it every day.
It’s mine.
It’s beautiful,
It’s perfect,
And it’s broken.


Credits:
Images – ‘Broken’ Painting by Francois Lubbe. All rights reserved. Property of Little Red Shoes. (Repro of one of the street artist Pure Evil’s work… just to get me started.)
Text: FR Lubbe


Mr Lennon, Mr Lennon

3

Mr. Lennon, Mr. Lennon the end is nigh
Mr. Lennon, Mr. Lennon ain’t any diamonds in the sky
Mr. Lennon, Mr. Lennon are you still asking why
Mr. Lennon, Mr. Lennon it’s all been a lie…

No one warned us ‘bout days like these
and they’re strange indeed,
dark days like these.

Mr. Lennon, Mr. Lennon there’s a gun against your head
Mr. Lennon, Mr. Lennon careful where you tread
Mr. Lennon, Mr. Lennon what’s being said
Mr. Lennon, Mr. Lennon give us our daily bread…

No one warned them ‘bout days like these
and they’re strange indeed,
black days like these.

Mr. Lennon, Mr Lennon nothing’s changed
Mr. Lennon, Mr. Lennon it’s been prearranged
Mr. Lennon, Mr. Lennon working class hero‘s get short-changed
Mr. Lennon, Mr. Lennon the war’s left us deranged…

Yo! Prophet in the city
preacher on the street
in shackles and in chains
council glitter is turning us bitter
it’s all up the shitter

Mr. Lennon, Mr. Lennon now that you’re dead
Mr. Lennon, Mr. Lennon the rich are still fed
Mr. Lennon, Mr. Lennon it’s the end that we dread
Mr. Lennon, Mr. Lennon put this monster now to bed…

** Dedicated to John Lennon, singer, songwriter, musician, philosopher, poet, activist and artist. Assassinated on 8 December 1980 in front of his New York apartment.  **


Credits:
Images 1: ‘Untiltled’ John and Piano Courtesy of Beatle Track Band
Text: FR Lubbe