Poetry by Aline Page


Roughness of apple bark presses into knees,

Clinging, swinging, swaying,

Right hand clasped to overhead branch.

Listening, intensely,

Spreading awareness across flat fields,

Stretching, elongating

Towards a thin blue-grey line.

Out of this horizon appears,

From the tunnelling smudge,

On the far right,

A small train, rhythmically clinking,

Chain-linking four Prussian blue carriages,

Increasing in volume, nearing,

Reverberating across the vast plain,

Being loudest at its mid-point.

Triggering in my clacking brain

A word train;

Four add-on words join,

Pulled by a thought engine,

Emerging, superimposed, 

Settling into the scene,

As the train’s echoes fade

To the misty vanishing point of infinity.

(Five-year-old’s  memory)

Nigel Summerley

Nigel Summerley retired from The Oldie magazine to return to freelance journalism. He previously held executive staff jobs at the London Evening Standard, The Daily Telegraph, The Sunday Telegraph and the Daily Express before freelancing for 20 years for newspapers including The Times, The Sunday Times, The Independent, The Guardian and the ‘i’ paper, plus a wide range of magazines. He continues to write about music, travel and health, and blogs at www.nigel-summerley.blogspot.com.

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