Competition No. 2662: In a jam

In Competition No. 2662 you were invited to submit a poem composed in the midst of a travel hold-up. The entry, a magnificent collective letting-off-of-steam, was peppered with exasperated references to apoplectic rage, bursting bladders and bickering children but these were tempered by those who acknowledged that there are benefits in being forced to take things more slowly.

Basil Ransome-Davies was one of them, and he pockets the bonus fiver. The other winners, printed below, get £25 each. Honourable mentions go to D.A. Prince, Ray Kelley, Gail White, Bill Greenwell and Joan Harris.

When trains are late you wait. There is no
choice.
At home you get the ranting Tannoy’s voice
forbidding this and that, the Coke machine,
the platform staff’s routine dyspeptic mien,
the sodden toilet and that sullen air —
so very Brit — of muttering despair…
The bats are out, a swooping crew. At noon,
chewing my trail mix by a salt lagoon,
I viewed a plankton-tinted chorus line —
those miracles of elegant design,
flamingos. Them, the quiet delta, me;
I savour the recalled epiphany
over a Fundador and a cigar,
the cheerful uproar of the station bar
my comfort zone. The Sitges train is late
by — ooh, at least an hour now. I can wait.
Basil Ransome-Davies

As dark descends on Ridgeway Hill,
On Ridgeway Hill,
Besunken in this cheerless chill,
Bereft of hide or hut,
With blanket strewn across my lap,
I rue the cruel and mean mishap
That lands me in my pony trap
With wheels stuck in a rut.

Afore and aft more carts are stuck,
Aye, more are stuck,
With wheels bogged down in mire and muck
While I, midst hold-up, rage!
Will hope of Budmouth’s bypass wane
Perchance a hundred years or twain
Till those, unborn, its comforts gain
In yon Olympic age?
Alan Millard