Very few of my poems have deep hidden meaning in the way that some scholars analyse Shakespeare’s works. I’m usually happy to get a story told in verse. Some poems have reflected particular personal events that have affected me and I almost never share these with anyone except my wife. Although I feel they were excellent poetry.
The following poem is the exception because to me it touches on part of the story of my current battle with poor health. I’m sure as time moves on this work will be modified and expanded but for now it’ll do. It was also the third in the trilogy I mentioned on my first St George’s day post. This was written first.
Stop the world I wona get off
If only life were like catching a bus
You could get on and off without making a fuss
Stand at the bus stop and wait in line
Along come the buses three at a time
Choose your route and pay the fare
Sit and wait until you get there
You don’t like that journey changed your mind
There are plenty of others you can find
Get on and off at your leisure
Life can be kind the journey a pleasure
When life’s bad and the journey a horror
choose another route, start again tomorra
Life ain’t like that there’s no going back
Once committed you’re on the rack
I know all this and I can’t help but scoff
So stop the world I wona get off.
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