Tempus Fugit No, this was not Adlestrop although it was a hot June day and the stop was unwonted but there was no hiss of steam, no meadowsweet or willow-herb. What I saw was a single name – Templecombe, a bee-busy bed of lavender and neatly clipped lawn alongside the Waterloo Express. Time had ceased to fly. No one left and, indeed, no one came. Only a bronze stationmaster populated the bare platform standing proud, one arm raised, frozen in time, sculpted in the act of ripping sheets from his bronze-bound timetable rendered obsolete by the digital display. No sound could be heard, not even a Somerset blackbird, above the diesel engine thrum and then the train juddered, as if clearing its throat, Time unfurled its wings and Templecombe slid away. Rosalind Adam Rosalind Adam is a Leicester, UK, girl, born and bred. She is the author of three children’s books, including The Children’s Book of Richard III. Her poetry has been published in a number of anthologies and online sites. In 2018 she won the G. S. Fraser poetry prize and was awarded a distinction for her Masters in Creative Writing at The University of Leicester.
2 Comments
2/3/2020 03:52:21 am
Excellent Ros ... wonderful to see your poem here, and learn about Templecombe and its amazing sculpture ... so apposite. Congratulations - cheers Hilary
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Joanne Faries
2/3/2020 10:54:00 pm
you paint a calm picture, and then the train juddered. Love the word descriptions. Good job!
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