Tag Archives: london

Who Am I?

Today I spoke with a marketing expert about how to better manage your online profile, promoting your work and doing this in the best way possible to get the best return.

Sounds simple enough, apart from the fact that one of the key things is to tell any visitors to my website/blog more about me, so they will glean from this this what they are here for.

So to this end I have updated my ‘about me’ or my ‘about J W Nelson’ sections in an effort to give readers, viewers the option to quickly know about me and what i want to achieve.

Please check out the above sections and let me know if its any good! And to help with knowing more about me – here is a little ditty…


Why not I’m a writer

I don’t box, so I’m no fighter

Like to boogie when I get chance

And by the way it means I like to dance

Like being happy and never sad

My occupation is being more than a dad

Never naughty so no ending up in court

Enjoy going to the gym and playing many sports

Enjoy the taste of food, especially spiced lamb

Yes, I’m the man from the Midlands – Yes that’s Birmingham

No hiding in my family of six

Growing up was like a certain film – maybe the Matrix?

The blue pill guided my path, my life

Doors opened, I found a job and my wife

The red pill meant having a boy and a girl

Precocious little blighters, make up our small world

I have always wanted to write

To have the ability to excite

Involve, stimulate and entertain 

That’s the target, that is my gain

Hello from ‘Me’ – a poetic set piece about me and who I am and try to be.

Any feedback welcomed; on here or @jwnelson3 (twitter) or j_w_nelson309 (Instagram)


THE FIRST IN THE SERIES (COVERING THE BOND MOVIES), my own poetic version starting with the first movie… more to come..

  1. NO Way…

It was an EON ago when it began

Nineteen sixty-two I believe

Broccoli and Saltzman had a plan

And there he was Mr. Sean Connery

From the pen of Mr. Fleming

Films that set the spy world alight

Cinema goers followed the sparkle like lemmings

Off the cliff of entertainment, into the night

In Jamaica an inspired Fleming wrote

They filmed Dr. No there

The exotic location was worthy of note

The choice, like Bond, was a dare

Bond fought ‘the hand’ of crime

Used the tricks of the trade

Ursula shone like a coin, a dime

Beauty met beauty; in Jamaica it was made

With action, pace and the one liner

Delivered to the enemy and the viewer

Followed by the baddie with a shiner

As Bond sat in a bow tie, eating from a skewer

With a nod and a wink

Good triumphs over evil

Facing the barrel of a Walther also makes one think

About not reneging on paying your bill

The bill for SPECTRE is a high one

Only 007 can guarantee payment

Supported by Ryder their work is done 

Now it’s time to send the statement

With Dr No. dead in the pool

Bond can get his hand on;

Cuddling Honey Rider as calm and as cool

Then sail away to safety; to the Bond theme song…

JW Nelson©

One Page Novels by – J.W. Nelson Volume 1

       train-1635038_1280    The Dream Journey by Train

Samuel Peterson, a frantic, stubborn man, leapt forward in huge strides, as he targeted the 1615 from St. Pancras station. The tannoyed voice ricocheted violently across the air, entering Peterson’s ears presumptuously. A female, high pitched tone droned on about the train he was about to catch, so he hoped. His legs moved swiftly now, like a greyhound chasing that ever moving plastic rabbit.

Sweating profusely, panting heavily, his 13 stone out of shape body, lumbered towards the train, sitting noisily on platform 3.  Entering the cabin, exhaling for moment to draw breath, Peterson scanned the seats from his bespectled view.  Cabin H, first class, yes that’s the one, seat number 13a. Fourteen pair of eyes drilled his. His stature. His demeanour. Decisions about Samuel permeated their minds. A tall, scruffy looking, male with no discernible instant appearance to determine his ancestry, perplexed the other passengers.

A large, untidy beard, covered his facial skin, as did his baseball cap for his head. An expensive pinstriped suit, finished off with white tatty trainers, sounded alarm bells in already prejudiced views. Without completely recoiling, as Peterson shifted towards his seat, eyes averted his as he drew near, as though Peterson was a storm or a hurricane heading in their direction. Then the moment of truth, seat 13a. There with her head down in 13b, sat a lady, about forty years old, auburn hair, glued to her electronic device. She didn’t look up once, as Peterson, fumbled with his bag in the overhead space. He spied her, eying her over, from her head to her feet. Deliberately taking his time to address his bag, compensating for the being intently watched by two men in seat 16a & b. This pragmatic opportunity delivered itself like a gift.

Finally slumping unceremoniously into his seat, Sarah White looked across at Peterson. ‘Hello Sarah. We were wandering when we’d have this meeting. You know what I mean don’t you?’

‘Don’t start Sammie. Drop the bullshit and give it to me straight for once’, Sarah fired back again turning to face the window she sat against.

‘I’d love to give it to you straight, you know that right’, Peterson desperately wanted to smile, yet his professionalism didn’t allow that sort of emotion or frivolity. His voice even, no discernible accent.

Sighing, shaking her head, Sarah White’s beautiful, cosmetically manicured face, bright emotionless eyes, began losing some of  colour, vibrancy and sparkle.

‘You lot better understand something’, she started, her voice low, yet determined. ‘If anything happens to me…’ Peterson and Sarah were interrupted by the attendant serving drinks. Peterson ordered two white tea’s with one sugar.

‘You were threatening something’, Peterson continued Sarah’s last repost, as she anxiously stirred her one sugared tea.

‘It doesn’t’ matter anyway’, Sarah reacted sharply, sipping her tepid beverage, ‘ your organisation will find out soon enough’.

‘Umm I see’, Peterson, muttered to himself, something he rarely did. Then he turned to face Sarah, rather seductively, knowing she despised him and his intentions. ‘My secret love, oh how my heart is saddened, as thou’s last journey on a train, leads to your final resting place’. His words faded as the sun does at around 840pm in the summertime. Sarah’s body relaxed, her eyes closing gently, settling into her seat, she drifted into a never ending cycle of sleep.

Peterson sat upright, nonchalant, calm, normal. Chirping could be heard from his right hand jacket pocket, the Mission Impossible theme tune by Lalo Schifrin. Peterson extracted his phone an answered. ‘Is it done’?, was the question. ‘What do you think? Peterson bounced his rhetorical question at his caller. ‘Of course, she’s sleeping’.

That morning, Samuel Peterson, awoke snuggled up in bed with his wife Sarah, who didn’t know about his murderous intentions to divorce her..

(c) Copyright J W Nelson 2017

Stage 3 ‘In Readiness’ (for the season) Day 14


Relax,  exhale, breathe

Shiver, twitch, distract

Wait, work, reveal

Food, stomach, attract…


J W Nelson

December 2016

Stage 2 ‘Preparations’ (for the season) Day 9


Yes its supposed to be a virtue

Good things come to those who wait

A couple of weeks in lieu

The 25th is coming, so remember that date…


© J W Nelson 2016

The Tree (it’s starting to look a lot like…)

The Tree…


So December arrives

What does it mean?

We count down the days

Oh yes, we’re really keen


The garden centre beckons

Another arduous trip

Never mind the madding crowds

But watch the ice, in case you slip


You view fifty trees

They all look the same

In frustration you pick the first one

It’s the annual run around game


Now into the car

You bend, twist, and shove

Eating needles you hadn’t planned on

Once in, you raise your eyes up above


With ease you bring it home

Stand back –  look at your icon with pride

Until you notice something is missing

You now want to run away and hide


Never mind, a job is done

The family will be pleased

No concern about the lopsided tree

Or being continually teased and teased…


More like this: @Poems for the Festive Season on Amazon.co.uk


The Journey (the 4th in the Tube Traveller Diaries)


st panc

Where I arrive and leave…


Where to start

maybe at the beginning

Train was late

Left my head spinning


worried about the underground

headache on the way

change of plans in effect

Taxi – is now the order of the day


missed the rocking and rolling

the warm stuffy atmosphere

missed the close proximity

of not being on board there




exit St. Pancras

waiting ages for mr. black cab

we debated the scrouge of Mr Uber

the conversation was anything but drab



heading for a Brunei owned park lane hotel

I only do upmarket you see

the doorman open my taxi door

there I was, out stepped, little old me


the deed was done

the return was now planned

Green Park Tube was calling me

for today however; the tube was banned

green park

The name actually makes sense…parks are usually green…

maybe on another day

me and my TFL travellers will unite

enjoying the flexible JOURNEY

that operates any day and any night..


The Landmark Teasers – Can you name them?

What is this large piece of glass called? An extra point if you know the Post/Zip code to!

What is this large piece of glass called?
An extra point if you know the Post/Zip code to!

Clue – Somewhere in the UK this slice of a building is standing, but what is it called?


this is easy

this is easy

Clue – What’s the time Mr Wolf?


A view from all around you

A view from all around you

Clue – Somewhere where you only see Green?


The world's biggest unicycle..

The world’s biggest unicycle..

Clue – It’s not a Ferris Wheel…


Prison of the past

Prison of the past

Clue (anagram) – Donn Fool Wrote


big circle in the future

big white circle in the future

Clue – Remember the Millennium Bug? (I have written a trilogy based on that – but that’s actually another story)


it moves all day and night and its probably dirty?

it moves all day and night and its probably dirty?

Clue – its wet under the bridge – what am I?


in the distance the city needs to be fed

in the distance the city needs to be fed

Clue – can you see a little yellow bird?

The Tube Traveller Returns (2nd in the Tube Traveller Diaries)

there's more underneath than above...

there’s more underneath than above…

Yes i’m back like Arnie

Sitting next to suited man eating his sarnie

The tube rocks this way and that

As the painted lady opposite loses her ascot style hat

The reader person buries their head in a book

The nervous tube rider doesn’t know where to look

The drooling old man, slides on to the shoulder of the women next door

Her perfume turns him on more and more

The hi-vis jacket looks on talking to his mate

Ready to hit the sites on time – cannot afford to be late

The college student check their mobile phone

Typing frantically, totally engaged, always ‘in the zone’

The tourists enter looking for a way out

London’s an easy city to navigate – that i have no doubt

There’s usually a helper, just be careful who you ask

Your choice may leave you having to wear a mask

Yes a mask to hide your false indignation

You play like you don’t understand, as you’re from another nation

Those riders exist in every corner of our travelling sphere

A sharp hard looking face that they want us all to fear

Never mind, the smiling riders operate with consummate glee

Replacing the misery guts, they don’t charge a fee

The busy, hectic rider checks their watch looking fraught

The smiling group can’t help them out, there are other battles to be fought

The relaxed rider, does this every day, sitting all smug and composed

So often in fact they can miss their stop, as they’ve had their eyes closed

Not so for the city man or woman, in their suit, tie, or skirt

When the tube reaches bank or moorgate, they are always ready and alert

The wandering eye man, circumvents the direct stare

The college female students better watch out, better beware

The opportunist take their chance to stay close

What they do afterwards I can only call verbose

So my journey observations leave me all mixed up inside

What I truly want to tell you, i’m afraid from you all i’ll have to hide

When my next travelling adventure beckons i do not know when

I hope and trust you won’t mind hearing from me again.

Tube Traveller (the first from ‘The Tube Traveller Diaries’)

Tube Traveller (1)

All hot and sweaty
Packed like sardines
The time against you is heavy
As you race to the citidines

Herded into our mobile barns
We push shove and squeeze
Our bags rub against the finest yarns
Then we shower it with an eruptive sneeze

Not far now you say
The next stops are Bank and Moorgate
You hold on tight as tube sways
Knowing that you might now be late

It comes to a grinding halt
You crash into the finely adorned lady
Raising your hands ‘its not my fault’
It comes across as a little bit shady

She exits, more bodies come aboard
Its an endless of sea of creatures
In Paris its no better at Gare du Nord
Too many ways out is one of its redeeming features

Not to worry we continue to move
Bodies shift, sway this way and that
There’s never any time to lose
You remain standing just because the carriage is packed

You notice heads down in books
You may catch a wandering eye
You notice the odd indifferent looks
You notice the ones that avoid a smile

In their own little world
You imagine what they might think
You wander how their day will unfurl
What’s their connection to our existence-their link

The forecast for your arrival is nigh
Maybe a little faith will hold true
The possibility of being late is high
Maybe a little prayer will have to do?

So the journey continues without a mind
The city still needs to be fed
It will only reveal what you want to find
As you work while everyone is in bed…