I was reading Becky Ross Michael’s Platform #4 and
was whisked away to a time when I stood on platforms nearly every day waiting for trains
to whisk me away to the big smoke. To the college where I trained to be a teacher,
to the university where I majored in English and Latin, a subject that whisked me away
to the days of Imperial Rome where I fell in love with the poets Catullus and Ovid
and the language from which so many of our words derive.
I met my first love on a platform while waiting for the same train.
I did not know it at the time but I said goodbye to my marriage on a platform
when my first wife went to see a ‘friend’ in Sydney.
I fell in love with literary platforms in the works of Agatha Christie
and, of course, Tintin who rode around in trains.
I wrote a poem once called ‘Boy on a Train Crying’. I had to fight hard
to get that little kid into my first book of poems but I did. I got him in.
We were both pleased. Then so as I wouldn;t appear sexist I wrote another poem,
a much happier one, called ‘Girl on a Train’. I can write anywhere but I love
writing on long train journeys. I wrote another poem called ‘Trains of Thought’.
It was heavily metaphoric, heavy as a platform.
When I write a good poem, I don’t want to leave it. I want to share it with the world.
Isn’t that what blogs are for?
Each evening I stand on a metaphoric platform for the night train to Bedfordshire
and the following day as the sun begins its journey across the sky I catch
the Morningtown Ride to begin a new journey of my own.
Life begins and ends on platforms.
- photo by Bruce Mars on Unsplash