Roger Kibble

Rookie - 8 Points (14th July 1943 / Essex, England)

The Travel Machine - Poem by Roger Kibble

Motors hum, doors sigh,
Wheels screech, bells cry,
Train moves on gathering speed,
Tunnels go by but nobody heeds
The rush of air and noisy din
Of this long monster, this travel machine.

Rushing along, how fast can we go
With carriages swaying charging their foe,
The air in the tunnel, languid and stilled,
Patiently waits, waits to be killed.
But then the brakes act after coming so far
With a shuddering halt and deafening jar.

Wheels screech, bells cry,
Motors hum, doors sigh,
People rush out, squeezing with strain
Like thousands of ants, ants with no brains,
They rush for the exits, nobody cares,
No time to walk slowly, all run like hares.

One day to the station
They'll come for the train
To find that it's gone
By mistake
Down a drain,
What a shame!

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Topic(s) of this poem: travel

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 12, 2006

Poem Edited: Friday, September 26, 2014

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