Feb. 16, 2020
At this point, I can say that between weekly flights to Manchester, regular flights to Nice, and occasional flights elsewhere my carbon footprint is a big as the footprint of a Yeti. I should be ashamed and be a better climate change warrior and I will, I promise, just as soon as I finish my Masters in December. In the meantime, I also travel a lot on trains, which is a real treat. I train in Ireland, the UK, France and Germany. The double pleasure is my free travel as a pensioner and discounts by booking on Apps, in advance and as a senior citizen. I couldn’t help noticing in recent months in my travels how, inexorably, trains systems everywhere are running into reliability difficulties.
Constant delays and cancellations on Oxford Road Railway station in Manchester have resulted in Northern being nationalised. I have been in those maelstroms frequently and witnessed many passengers on their way home finding trains cancelled without notice and having to wait or find alternative ways home after a long day. So I couldn’t resist the opportunity to capture some of this in a poem.
As usual, read, enjoy, share and give me some feedback.
Clíodhna
17.02.2020 12:37
Brilliant!
Leo Smyth
16.02.2020 16:25
Great stuff, Peter! A belly laugh from all those who aren't actually on the stairs.
Triona Mc Morrow
16.02.2020 15:31
Great! Fantastic rhythm, like the sound of a train, also the poem conveys frustration well, apart fro being very funny!!
Latest comments
25.11 | 22:15
Grief is experience through the mundane. Simple but powerful. The accompanying image really compliments the poem.
07.11 | 11:14
Hi Peter,
A great observation! Social media can be a scary place... I also need to reduce my time there
Hugs,
John.x
06.11 | 16:24
A great one, Peter, in the context you describe. I don't read social media myself, I doubt my equilibrium could stand it. 'The balance of his mind disturbed' yes, I think it would be.
06.11 | 15:59
Yes, gossip is a weapon of mass destruction.
In my business as well as personal life I have zero tolerance.
Echoes of the Old on the New Battlefields
Warrior chiefs of the GAA were early on the field to prepare:
Posts and cones positioned to mark territories
Very young novices came later by parents’ chariots
clad and shod for the ensuing battles
Firstly, paced for speed, resilience and flexibility,
then marked off into opposing teams
Each warrior chief led a young squad of hopefuls
in further exercises to bring them to fit levels
There followed a huddle, an exhortation rant,
responded with clamour of intent and enthusiasm
Skirmishes began, speed across the field, hunt for the ball,
to be delivered as the goal, or to be prevented at all costs
Warrior chiefs egged on, instructed, altered the field of play
the young ’uns complied with fighting spirit
For every fall and hurt spells were cast on the side line
till fitness returned and they were entered back into play
Scores mounted, roars enhanced, casualties grew,
novices flagged and regrouped across the fields
Between bouts came the talks of encouragement
Stay back, pass, pass, pass, keep the pace.
Old hands passing skill onto new palms with dedication,
a gift of generous wisdom gladly given
Peter Clarke
20th April 2024