Trains of Thought
A collection of poems
Jill Martin
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Trains of Thought
Jill Martin
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2009 Jill Martin
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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About the Author
Jill Martin, a Lancashire-born retired teacher who defected to South Yorkshire many years ago (and has yet to be forgiven), has been writing books and poetry for several years. She has published a music textbook, a biography of a Czech refugee, Six Weeks Lucky, and her most recent children's book, Eric and Thickpea, was published in 2007. Trains of Thought is her first collection of poems, told in her uniquely observant style.
Author's Note
This collection of ramblings has been gradually accumulating for a number of years, resulting in many full waste-paper bins, endless thumbing of thesauri, late meals, dogs not walked, a layer of dust thick enough to write in when my pencil broke, and more recently, hours spent trying to fathom out the workings of a computer. My poems have kept me busy at home and thus safe from the hoards of folk who stand on street corners trying to get me to do a survey. They have also afforded me a rainbow of emotions ranging from deep frustration and feelings of inadequacy to those of immense pleasure and a sense of self-satisfaction for which I feel no remorse.
It's good to know they have been of some use.
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Contents
Prudence is a Virtue
Treasured
Wee Small Hours
Of Sound Mind
Hide 'n' Seek
Who's Watching Whom?
Everlasting
Baggy Jumper
Train of Thought
What's She Like?
Go with the Flow
Autumn Ramble
Priorities
Let's have a PANIC
Bah Humbug
January Sales
Party Time
Camel Droppings
My Love Is...
Light from the Window
In Memoriam
Who's Queen?
Am I Yours?
Youthful Fruit
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Prudence is a Virtue
Pru, Pru, you'll know what to do,
We asked for a saviour and Vicar sent you,
Without more ado you solve problems galore,
And leave us more organised than just before.
You deck out the church with fresh flowers and tea,
The Sunday School outing runs smooth as can be,
The beggars and wastrels are swept out the way,
And door-to-door salesmen avoid us by day.
The pavements are swept, all the gutters are clean,
The children are never heard let alone seen,
And never a washing-line laden with smalls
Is seen in the village unless behind walls.
Thanks to your presence the lorries pass by,