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My Vacation Trip in Verse

by James A. Tweedie

One of the comments in response to the recent “On the Meeting of Poets” post read: “A diary in verse. It’s original and interesting. I’d like to see more.” Since I journaled in verse that recent trip my wife and I took to England and beyond, I figured, “Why not?” So here it is, a few slices of verse snipped from my journal. All photos are mine.”

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Getting There

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James A. Tweedie at Akureyi in Iceland (all photos by the Poet)

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My Seat is Small

I’m on the plane, my seat is small and narrow.
I’m cramped for what will be a nine-hour flight.
Our flight-path polar route’s straight as an arrow,
The trip to London will be overnight.

The man in front of me is now reclining.
He isn’t asking me if it’s okay.
If he would ask, I’d shake my head, declining,
But there’s not much that I can do or say.

I guess he has the right to be relaxing
Although it’s just the opposite for me.
The whole experience for me is taxing—
To feel his seat press hard against my knee.

Oh, well, I guess I’ll have to grin and bear it.
To raise the issue could create a scene.
Although it could turn out he doesn’t care, it
Could also be (like road rage) he’d turn mean!

Sometimes it’s good and right to be assertive.
At other times it’s better to be not.
This time around I’m choosing to be furtive,
And thankful for what little room I’ve got.

This poem doesn’t need to have a moral.
But if it did, perhaps it would be this:
To claim your rights may not be worth a quarrel
If what you trade away for it is bliss.

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Scotland

Edinburgh, Scotland

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Edinburgh

She once was called, “Auld Reekie,” but no more,
(Although the steepled skyline’s much the same).
The stench of guttered sewage, butchered gore
Of medieval days gave her that name.

And living memory can still recall
The smog-fog smoke of coal dust in the air,
Encrusting stone clad church and castle wall
Turned ebon black which once was fresh-hewn fair.

But post-coal history has changed the scene
As clean scrubbed ashlars cast a lighter hue
And modern things replacing what had been
Segue a more contemporary view.

The city’s past still proudly on display,
While newer things add history to today.

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Norway

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fjord

Fjords

The word “spectacular” cannot describe
The sight and “feel” of a Norwegian fjord.
The cliffs and waterfalls give off a vibe
That even billionaires could not afford.

Icelandic fjords are of a wider stripe,
With broader, sloping mountains on each side.
Their falls are also of a different type,
With inland cataracts their Nordic pride.

The word, “fjord,” itself is worth a hoot.
Its “j” pronounced just like the “y.” in “yo-yo
Akin to words derived from Latin root,
Like “Jungfrau,” “ja,” “Bjorn Borg” and “Sarajevo.”

When Scandinavians look for a job,
Instead of Fjord, it’s Volvo or it’s Saab.

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The Shetland Islands

The Shetland Islands

A Wife of Noble Character Who Can Find?
She is Worth Far More than Rubies. —Proverbs 31:10

The King of Denmark’s daughter was betrothed, so I’ve been told,
To James the King of Scotland, but no dowery had he.
He hadn’t any jewelry, he hadn’t any gold.
Instead, he gave the Shetlands, and the islands of Orkney.

And Denmark ever since, has tried to get those islands back.
They tried to offer money which was met with a rebuff.
In days of yore the Vikings would have tried another tack,
By pillaging and raiding till old Scotland cried, “Enough!”

In spite of this, the Danes and Scots are bestest-best of friends.
The Scots eat pickled herring and sometimes cardamom bread.
And in return, the Danes have their own way to make amends;
Pretending to like haggis, though they’d much rather be dead.

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Iceland

Iceland

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An Arctic Circle Morning

The northern coast of Iceland to the south,
With grayscale clouds and shoreline black and white.
Stark snow-clad peaks, divided by the mouth
Of fjords, a stunning Arctic Circle sight.

The sun came up at 2:15 am.
I woke at three and rose to greet the day.
A world apart, each scene a glacial gem,
God’s gift, on this, the 28th of May.

The sea is calm. My cruise ship toasty warm
Enough for me to wear a pair of shorts
And short sleeved shirt while I’m on board. No storm
Predicted as we enter ice-carved ports.

To think that people live in such a place,
The hardy spirit of the human race.

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Homeward Bound

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The Inevitable Return

To travel far and see the world is something to commend.
The saddest part, yet sweetest, too, is that such journeys end.
For there are times when it is good to wander and to roam,
But sweetness at each journey’s end is found in coming home.

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James A. Tweedie is a retired pastor living in Long Beach, Washington. He has written and published six novels, one collection of short stories, and four collections of poetry including Sidekicks, Mostly Sonnets, and Laughing Matters, all with Dunecrest Press. His poems have been published nationally and internationally in both print and online media. He was honored with being chosen as the winner of the 2021 SCP International Poetry Competition.