Video Courtesy: Internet. If you own this I am willing to credit you or take this down.
On a road commonly travelled, I walk with a few fellows, How long are we together or how soon shall we separate, are not questions that bother me. But, that you are, and that the path is and that we are walking while we can, Is all I care for.
I’m on a train to Yorkshire
in bright sunshine for the day
Left when dawn was breaking
as it’s many miles away
Just shy of twenty hours
this working day for me
From the South Coast and then back again
by midnight hopefully
I wrote about a journey
I started way back when
the words that found their way
to the pages from my pen
were from an adolescent
who hadn’t yet found life
yet wrote as though he knew it all
through torment, angst and strife
As stations go, the Lime Street one
here in Liverpool
is rather nice and will I’m sure
make some people drool
Architects and engineers and
railway history buffs
Will, weak of knee, pontificate
about minutiae stuff
Rhythm of the rails
strikes a resonant chord
Music for the morning
and the commuter hoard
Newspapers folded
Tablets fired up
with caffeine boosters
from paper cup
Gathering momentum
into the Weald
Heading for London
through Sussex field
Heading into Worthing on
a big blue double-decker bus
My transport for this morning
as there are no trains because
the buggers are on strike again
No Christmas spirit there
No sparkle and no smiles as
Southern Rail just do not care
Yes, I know it’s winter out there
and it’s miserable and wet
But with your imagination
A little summer I can get
It’s really not that difficult
your mind’s eye is what you need
and a willingness to just let go
and listen as agreed
Five thirty in the morning
and I’m out and on my way
It is cold and pretty brittle
at this early time of day
On a train that’s bound for London
warm and cosy here inside
Though my journey takes me northward
to West Yorkshire there I ride
I take the square window and fold it up,
Tuck it inside the small cupboard upon my left lung
And under my heart. The road is a leviathan’s tail
Serpentine across the North American continent,
There is the smell
Of moss and green. A color
Like a thief. Stealing land, smothering
Hillsides and the trees. This
Essence, the Qi, of the
Leaf and blade, settles here
(On my breast) and cracks me open
To lift my heart.
Train a-trundles daily
inland from the sea
cross a river, through the fields
familiar to me
A journey I know all too well
although it differs every day
as the scenery changes
when the weather has its say
No hesitation here
No holding back
A firm foot forward
There’s nothing I lack
No niggling doubts
No worries or lows
No fear of unknown
No concerns and no woes
In the razor sharp clarity
of a crisp autumn morn
An erudite moment
of instinct was born
A momentary feeling
captured and held
Crystallised into form
to fashion and meld
