Thanks Tiffany.
Here’s one for the railway enthusiasts among us!
[B][U] THE OLD TUNNEL[/U][/B]
I was magnificent once.
Half a mile of high arched
architecture, punctuated
with lamps and air vents,
leading the rumbling trains
safely through the hillside.
I knew them all. Flying
Scotsman, Duchess of Hamilton.
Even the majestic Mallard,
gleaming blue and silver,
throttle straining, whistle screaming,
once came hurtling through.
And then, soot blackened,
steam streaked, diesel stained,
they abandoned me. Electric
cables hum now above shiny steel.
New routes, new age. My time
is gone, I am history.
Concrete blocks crack, red
brick crumbles, eroded by water
dripping slowly from somewhere.
as the unseen, unknown feet
of less welcome travellers
patter in the darkness.
Spiders, spinning webs to catch
their prey, touching me softly,
swiftly, silently. Cobweb kisses.
They also wait and listen
in the darkness, but for what?
No-one comes here now.
The lichen encroaches,
hanging in slimy drifts,
stinking of decay.
Rails rust, sleepers rot,
rats die and lie forgotten
in the darkness.
No more the sibilant hiss of steam
or thrilling rush of wheels.
Nothing but the echo
of the ghost of a dream.
An engineering triumph,
no longer used or needed,
and going nowhere.
© 2020
Your ingenuity amazes me, ST. It wouldn’t occur to many people to write from the point of view of a tunnel. I remember being fascinated by the defunct Woodhead tunnel, some time back, so it struck a chord with me.
I am glad you liked it, Harbal. I love playing with words - been writing poems and stories since I was 5yrs old - which wasn’t yesterday!:-D:-D:-D
Lovely poem, Silver Tabby.
It reminds me of the old rail tunnel they unearthed in Liskeard when they were building the new A38 to by-pass the town.
Thank you. I loved the old steam trains!
Lovely poem of trains how they were, Tabby
I wish I had an ounce of your skill with words. 
Yet again, that’s very good.
On my to do list is to walk through the Shute Shelve Tunnel on the now defunct Strawberry Line not far from where I live. I shall think of this as I stroll through the tunnel once the pandemic has passed.
Very good tabs…clever girl
Thank you Mags, Fruitcake and Summer.
A WALK TO THE ‘BUS STOP.
The morning is dark and damp.
Trees still weeping yesterdays rain
onto the fallen leaves and empty cans
abandoned along the silent lane.
Black plastic sacks loom and fall,
like alien life forms – re-arranging
themselves in the hedgerow, shadows
in the swirling mist – shape changing.
The sun rises red eyed and reluctant.
Somewhere a blackbird starts a song
that mingles with the distant hum
of traffic, it is time that I was gone.
‘Bus shelter smells – cigarettes and semen,
empty packets and full condoms lie strewn
about the floor. Windows are scarred with
lewd graffiti – I hope the ‘bus comes soon !
© 2020Yuck! What a horrible bus shelter.Stand outside it instead.
A very expressive poem, ST.
Very true to life, Tabby.
I will think of that every time I’m waiting for a bus now. 
Won’t you take a taxi, ST.? I don’t like to think of you waiting in that bus shelter. 
Thank you Tiffany,Mags and Harbal. That shelter is right outside a comprehensive school and it is amazing what goes on in there after hours!
Here is a little light relief for you!
[B][U] ALF, THE ELF.[/U][/B]
Alf, the Elf, was afraid of himself,
which made his life quite scary.
He disliked gnomes, and mobile ‘phones,
and anything remotely hairy!
He hated fog, and if he saw a frog
it could make him sick for a week -
but there was no cure, he just had to endure
the havoc that living could wreak!
He couldn’t eat cheese - it made him sneeze,
and nothing that had ever had legs
could be put on his table, and he was quite unable
to even contemplate eggs.
He would not have rice, or pickled dormice,
no pasta, no toast, or potatoes.
No peas, no plums, and no currant buns,
no rabbit, rhubarb, or tomatoes!
His faddy diet nearly caused a riot,
and his behaviour drove everyone crazy,
for he was known to be rude, incredibly crude,
intolerant, and totally lazy.
Then the Elf Queen decreed “Enough indeed,
our reputation is being defamed!
Give him some work and don’t let him shirk.
This wilful elf has to be tamed!”
So Alf was made to take up a trade.
and was given a mobile store
to run for one year - on routes far and near,
to see if that could be a cure.
He worked every day to make the store pay,
and started a night-shift beside.
but, unused to such strain, it exploded his brain,
and, sadly, one night Alf just died.
Filled with remorse the Queen said “Of course
we must send for a priest in a surplice
to lead us all in prayers for Alf’s soul -
and we’ll call it a National Elf Service !”
© 2020
That’s uncanny, ST, I am just about to post something about gnomes.
Maybe we should try a joint effort - on telepathy!
I knew you were going to say that. 
Funny but sad too, ST. I loved it.