I used to travel on trains a lot more than I do now, and these pomes were written from frustration:

Mwoh ray hampin araffo hree
(The train now standing at Platform 3)

Sitting on a platform at a station
Waiting for an Inter-city Godot
I find myself musing
About what use is information
Delivered with incomprehensible echo?
It’s almost amusing.
I try to stay calm and be patient,
Hearing words said through towels
But my brain is refusing
To make sense of any location.
In the midst of incontinent vowels
It’s all so confusing
That I’ve just missed my connection.
Suppressing the growls
Now I am choosing
The right tone and inflexion
for frustrated howls
at the time I am losing.
© Nick Lear 2002

Why do we get so vexed about the worms?
They spend their days shuttling back ‘n’ forth
Worming along, minding their own business
Not intentionally hurting anyone.
Ok, so they are a bit slower than we expect,
And the early bird isn’t sure the worm will turn up
Never mind catching the elusive wee beasties!
But is that a reason to get so upset?
Perhaps it’s because we can’t believe that worms can’t cope
With trivial things like “the wrong type of snow,”
“Leaves on the line,” or
“Years of chronic under-investment.”