Tuesday, 15 March 2016

Take the slow train.

After a long, leisurely coffee with friends in town, (Ethiopian coffee since you ask, and delicious with it), it was home to a very quick lunch (home made vegetable soup which had had a noggin of old parmesan sitting in it since yesterday, which made it delicious) followed by fried sweet cure bacon, fried eggs and baked beans.   Then it was off the Richmond to the hearing aid clinic.

Our clinic, in the Friary hospital, has a system where you queue until one o'clock and then are given a card with a number on it.  (I was there early and was number three).  There is such a nice friendly atmosphere and everyone chats away freely - as folk tend to do in times of adversity - ie waiting interminably to be seen.

Driving home, instead of coming the usual short way I decided to come home via the entrance to Swaledale, although it is a dismal day with poor visibility.   It was lovely; there were various blossom trees out, mostly hanging over garden walls into the roadside.   There were primroses and daffodils on the roadside and everywhere was peaceful.   I really enjoyed the drive = three miles further, but who cares about a little distance like that?

I used to write  poetry (well, more correctly an apology for poetry, which is why I finally stopped kidding myself it was any good and stopped writing it.)   But yesterday I came across a poem I wrote on a theme which fits this choice of long way round journey, so I make no apology for printing it again here.   Call it self-indulgence.

Take the slow train.

Take the slow train,
let it wander
through the meadows;
count the buttercups;
watch the river
as it glides
under bridges, 
over fields;
see the sunlight
on the water
dappling patterns
through the trees.
And listen - in the station -
to the birdsong
in the silence.
You'll arrive there
just the same -
only later.   And 
your head will be full of
nothing more
than the pleasant country scene.

Take the fast train,
the express -
as it hurtles
through the fields,
over bridges and through stations,
empty platforms,
'til it shudders
to a halt
at its final destination.

Then you step out in a whirl
to a crowd of busy people,
all intent on getting somewhere
in the very shortest time.

I'm a slow-train person.
I need time to stand and stare.
When it comes to travelling quickly
I'm not going anywhere.

15 comments:

Toni said...

That IS poetry and beautiful poetry!

Joanne Noragon said...

I'm thinking of taking the girls on a train trip this summer. I think it will be a fast train.

Barbara Womack said...

What a lovely poem and sentiment!

I'm all for the slow train.

Maria said...

The poem is beautiful! Thank you for posting it. Greetings Maria x

donna baker said...

I enjoyed your poem Pat - no better or worse than any I've read. I think we tend to think everyone sees and thinks about things like we do. Many do not notice the little things. I'd enjoy that slow train.

Wilma said...

Your poem is a slow train pleasure to read.

Heather said...

I am in favour of the slow train and all the delights one might see from it. Your drive home sounds idyllic.

Mac n' Janet said...

I like the slow train too, freeways don't give you time to stop and look.

angryparsnip said...

I like that you drove home a different way and reminded you of your poem.

cheers, parsnip

Dartford Warbler said...

I love your poem. Almost a marriage between "Adlestrop" (for peace and contemplation) and "From a Railway Carriage" (for a quick hurtle through the countryside)!

I did something similar last week. A slow drive home across the Forest after a trip to the dentist. So much lovelier than the main road with its lorries and speeding cars.

The Weaver of Grass said...

I am now going to see if I can find "From a Railway Carriafe" DW.

Terry and Linda said...

I'm a slow train sort of person myself!

Linda

Gwil W said...

Thanks for sharing your lovely poem. My very first poem was about a train. I got a postal order from the Liverpool Echo newspaper. Success went to my head and soon I was whizzing them in to such august publications as the Lancashire Evening Telegraph. I remember one was about Fish and Chips. I heard there's a train somewhere that goes so fast you can't see anything outside the window except a blur. Finally I must mention two express trains in opposite directions in a tunnel in Austria and the air pressure wave was so great that several doors on one of the train jumped out of their runners. As always, the best way is the middle way, not too fast and not too slow.

The Weaver of Grass said...

Thanks to everyone for calling in.

The Broad said...

Years ago we took my parents around that area of Yorkshire. My mother had a great wish to visit Richard III's home, Middleham Castle and we spent some lovely days exploring the area.