A Journey?

This is my ‘journey’ poem;

it actually has nothing at all

to do with journeys;

but, it does travel well.

I wrote it

one day

in a far away May,

whilst envisioning Heaven,

which to me would be Hell.

All those harps;

being sat on a cloud;

the rustling of angels’ wings;

and other, varied, sundry annoying things.

”Where be the rain?

Where be the gulls,

It’s sunny again!”

and other fresh Hells.

And when the time came

for my pasty, cream tea;

I’d find out some Devon folk

lived next to me.

And then there would arguments,

for we’d both disagree,

on the placing of jam,

and the to be or not to be

motorway free.

Why couldn’t I be put

next to someone from Kent;

who’d discuss all the hours

in Dover he’d spent;

the castle, the docks,

the thousand natural shocks

that flesh is heir to;

there’d never be a mention of

Torquay being better than Looe.

I could almost cope with someone from York;

as long a I could stop all his blatherings with a cork.

But, not just yet will I head up the stairway;

or take the highway below;

I’m still fairly uncertain,

when I am dead,

which way that I will then go.

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