Ph: Life: In Praise Of A Roller Coaster Ride Poem by Brian Johnston

Version 1:

Some writhe in fear before a roller coaster ride,
You would think they just wouldn't get on it.
I think I've felt worse just standing by a girl's side
Let's forget throwing brains at a sonnet.

Shakespeare was no dummy and to match him is tough,
Much worse with butterflies in your tummy.
I have just tried it once and I found it quite rough,
Made me wish that I still had a mummy!

On roller coasters there's simply no place to go,
You are forced onto a singular track,
Your whole body winds up being part of the show
And no free will could be its only lack.

Every trough that you enter decimates your view ,
And the peaks really shake up your guts,
But once you get started well just what can you do?
Makes me fond of being stuck in deep ruts.

When you embrace the full range of your emotion,
Some say is a sign of maturity,
Both the size and the true depth of that ocean,
Testify to a spirit that is free.

Let us suppose you think you know what is coming,
Still my friend there's really no place to hide,
The satanic banjo of fate is still strumming,
Each time that you take this heart-stopping ride.

Riding rails has a cost, and your lunch might get tossed,
But your emotions will never be staid.
If your ticket is punched, why fret over the cost,
That's surely the way this life should be played.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Version 2:

Some
People
Writhe in fear
Before their very first
Really scary roller coaster ride,
You would think that they just wouldn't get on it.
I think I've felt worse standing by a girl's side
Let's forget throwing brains at the
Form of a sonnet.
Shakespeare, too,
Was no dummy and
To match him is tough, and even worse
With butterflies in your tummy.
I have just tried it
Once and I found it quite rough,
It made me wish I still had a mummy!


Estate Lawyer's Note: At this point the poet apparently went into catatonic shock at the forced desecration of his almost perfect verse to match a roller coaster's perverse discipline. He is still showing occasional glimpses of what could be sanity but the outcome is uncertain and we ask for prayer. (There's still hope.) Version 1 of this poem was finally recovered by using the remains of his estate to pay poor school children to laboriously piece together the contents of his paper shredder over the space of a few years.


On roller coasters there's simply no place to go,
You are forced onto a singular track,
Your whole body winds up being part of the show
And no free will could be its only lack

Every trough that you enter decimates your view ,
And the peaks really shake up your guts,
But once you get started, well, just what can you do?
Makes me fond of being stuck in deep ruts.

For you to embrace the full range of emotion,
Some say is a sign of maturity,
Both the size and the true depth of that ocean,
Testify to a spirit that is free.

Let us suppose you think you know what is coming,
Still my friend there's really no place to hide,
The satanic banjo of fate is still strumming,
Each time that you take this heart-stopping ride.

Riding rails has a cost, and your lunch might get tossed,
But your emotions will never be staid.
If your ticket is punched, why fret over the cost,
That's surely the way this life should be played.