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Old Hobo Dies Hard

Train whistles still call me
in the dead of night
recalling wanderlust
days of youth, tugging
inside me tight
Vacant curiosity of what
might have been
another place
another lifetime
remembering when
I was free, with
nothing to lose but
The Sadness
I carried overseas
(and back again)
like a bulky bag of
dirty laundry grown large 

Older now, I thought I'd
done my washing
dried, pressed, folded
put away... And yet-
suddenly I feel that
familiar weight
on my back
gunnysack of Sadness
fraught with longing
daring me to break away
for destinations unknown
leave today- this
temporary madness
of suburban ways


Even though I'm pretty "settled" at this stage of life, train whistles always stir that restless part of me that refuses to accept that I'm too old to jump up & take off for 'regions unbounded' like I once did...

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

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Date: 8/16/2019 4:29:00 PM
So evocative of my early twenties when I was convinced happiness was always somewhere else - although once in a while still I hear a train whistle and wonder (darn now I will have to write a poem about it)
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Rhona McFerran
Date: 8/17/2019 2:13:00 PM
Ha!! I see this resonates with you, too! Train whistles are made of powerful stuff... ;)
Date: 8/14/2019 5:07:00 PM
outstanding free verse, Rhona. I wish all writers of free verse used such a good and lucid style as this.
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Rhona McFerran
Date: 8/15/2019 2:14:00 PM
Thank you SO much!! ;) (I am very relieved that you find this "good and lucid"... as my sleep-deprived brain has been so muddled lately that I wasn't entirely sure how it came out!)
Date: 8/14/2019 9:39:00 AM
Rhona, I like this poem. There's something special in train whistle when you can't quite place the direction or distance. -Richard
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Rhona McFerran
Date: 8/15/2019 2:09:00 PM
Thanks, Richard! I see I'm not the only one! ;)