Poem
The concrete platform symbolic of stations,
where one awaits for ones train,
Is either a moving mass of humans, or
lonesome as an open plain.
A consistent patron of railways Ive been
since arriving on Australian soil,
And Ive waited on platforms as silent
as night, or all a human turmoil.
Porters hasten on the concrete stretch
to perform some tasks no doubt.
But they just convey the impression
that the "Boss" must be about.
Platforms have an effect on me, and as
I await on my train,
I wonder if the journey will bring me content,
or will I travel in vain?
On wooden seats people sit and converse,
They have definite plans I suppose.
But I always seem the uncertain type,
just going where the train goes.
At night, a deserted platform is a lonely
place to wait.
The scattered lights beat down on your thoughts,
you hope the train wont be late.
Then your thoughts are rendered by a familiar sound,
as your awaited train approaches.
You gaze along the track and see the arrival
of Engine and Coaches.
The train pulls in, you climb aboard,
and conduct yourself to a seat.
Amid groans of agony from the occupants,
as you step all over their feet.
A whistle from the engine, then the train departs,
and soon leaves the platform behind.
You settle down for the journey and try
to occupy your mind.
Some day I intend to settle down
and regard travel with scorn.
But Ill always retain the memory of
the necessary Railway Platform
Jim Boylan, Woy Woy