The Flying Scotsman Poem by Martin Ward

The Flying Scotsman

Steam Time Machine.

Blood, sweat and tears:
leathery knuckles
skinned as spanners
slip the crimson bolt;
love or labour
stoked-up,
for all of us.

Run on iron
from the earth,
water and Vulcan
elements of life.

Journey us
from greatness
of times gone by.

Living giant,
breathing fire;
running through the night.

Child of man
and man like child,
who dares approach
the dragon's lair:
in awe and reverence
to your footplate,
to venerate in homage still.

Pumping, thundering,
bellowing medicating smoke
that burns and smells synaptic.

Your coats
of many colours
convey majestic liverage:
high maintenance you are.

You spawn
so many children,
running, playing
in attics or upon
Axminster tracks.
Iron grandfather
of young and old:
stay fired and firing.