Best Rails Poems
Forest fairies changing colors,
autumn's patchwork pattern weaving
in the foggy morning stillness
before winter's barren grieving,
up the river on the damp air,
up hollows through the shadowed vales
sounds the mournful, sobbing whistle:
once more memory rides the rails.
Childhood song for railroad watchers -
a tinge of hobo in my veins,
longing for the lonesome whistle
like a lost child for his name.
Life began beside the railway,
an open door to fantasy;
my dreamer's soul soaked in the flavor
hearing that whistle witchery.
Hungry tramps in search of breakfast
found our doorstep every time;
hobo network communication
marked mama's eggs and bacon "fine."
Bleary eyes and beards all stubble
made child imaginations fly
and the tales with which we clothed them
were wilder still than hobo lies.
Oh, for the days when trains were magic:
iron dragons breathing smoke and fire,
lashing long tails through the valleys
with monstrous strength that never tired.
Oh, the secrets that were hidden
behind the doors of plain boxcars;
feel the untamed urge to mount them
and plunder treasure from afar.
Delight was ours beyond measure
to waken on those special days,
finding, in the night, the dragon
had brought the circus train our way.
See the bearded lady waving
and catch the fat man's twinkling eye,
smell the coal smoke's pungent flavor
beneath our magic big top sky.
Grown up am I; steam train magic
comes swirling by once in a while
to view autumn's fleeting pageant
and make train lovers like me smile.
Nostalgic, rhythmic beating,
staccato yelps and sobbing wails
make my soul a mental hobo;
once more memory rides the rails.
Copyright, 2000
Faye Lanham Gibson
The engine: Long and black
And sleek as she could be
She shook the earth in her approach
As her heraldry.
An atmosphere of steam and smoke
Expanding in her wake
The Queen-of-the-Rails speeds on
An arrival soon to make.
Massive is her presence
Enormity her design
Power is her excess
This Queen is so refined
Once she ruled with majesty
When o’er the rails she flew
But … now, this one last time,
The railway bids: “Adieu”.
Slowly when she comes to stop
We see she’s thoroughbred
When water, steel and hard, black coal
Within her there are wed.
Her regal-ness resplendent
In fittings’ shining bright
Commanding our respect
O’er the rails of her last flight.
Now sitting at the siding
She’s puffing rhythmic breath
The museum’s destination
Of her life commits its’ theft.
Photographs will mimic
Her image of today
But missing from those photos:
Glories of Yesterday
When o’er the steel she thundered
Demanding from all who saw
Respect for Her grand power
Which held them all in awe.
But Glory, she found, was fleeting
When “progress” came to call
Her future then was set in stone
In the writing on the wall.
Now we hear the brake release …
Her throttle then is moved …
She inches down the shiny track
Where the land with steel is grooved
Then as she gains her speed
And whistles out her “yell”
An announcement for all to hear:
“I know I’ve served you well!”
She’s journeyed through the ages
And a boy – an old man now -
Watches as she fades away -
He waves, then shouts out: “Ciao!”
But in his mind is yesteryear
With his dog there by his side
Watching near the railroad tracks
Where the Queen-of-the-Rails did ride.
And long from now whenever
He says: “Remember when …”
In those times of reverie,
She’ll come alive … again.
nostalgia, farewell
RAILS © TANKA
Rails chewed up the land
Buffalo herds cease to roam
Down the railway track
Over hills, over dales gone
‘Big Horns’ and ‘Buffalo Bills’!
Didee
Third Rails
by Odin Roark
One’s temptable 20's say “flirt with it.”
40's say “not on my watch.”
60's say “made it across the tracks.”
Home free’s reality.
Off the full-retiree goes.
Golf course by day.
Country club by night.
Home free for some.
Off the semi-retiree goes.
Part time work at home by day.
TV at night for armchair ventures.
Most arrive there.
Some realize more choice.
Third rail respect
sees no difference
from 20 to 60 years and beyond.
Accepts ubiquitous warnings.
Never flirts.
Never assumes immunity.
Never considers chancing too far.
Third rail addiction
knows not retirement,
remaining ready to wander through unlocked doors,
strolls through parks at night,
views chance-taking as senility-deterrent.
Most forget…
Consciousness can wane,
and like a a subway schedule,
mobility coming along less often after sundown,
often with fewer start and stop choices.
Still
With anxious rush hours easily avoided
more leisure movement thrives,
car to car,
platform to platform,
late nights,
early mornings,
yesterday’s have-tos left to others.
For a choice few…
A venturesome life learned early
remains an option,
an awareness,
a forever reminder
that forward motion never advances by itself.
Those same few…
Understand Time's playful third rail,
the click and clack,
of sparks and fire for mischievous die-hards.
PARALLEL ARE THE RAILS
(PRE-VERSE 1)
Feeling all alone
Cast away like a stone
Few friends what I got
True friends can’t be bought.
(VERSE 1)
Living is a joke
Think I’m about to choke.
Lookin’ at you
Lookin’ at me
Mirror is true (but the reflection is cracked)
False truths won’t set you free.
(Pre-Chorus)
I got my time
I got my rhyme
Beggin’ for a dime
Beggin’ for your time
(Chorus)
Bittersweet is the love (Sweeter than the lime)
Smellin’ like a clove
Burnt up in a stove
Rotting in a grove
Shrapnel of hardened nails
Pouring down like the rain
Storing away the parlayed pain
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
(PRE-VERSE 2)
Heavy is the stone
When you’re all alone
Many friends were not what I thought
False friends are easily bought
(VERSE 2)
Drowning in the smoke
Deception is no joke
Reflection of you
Reflection of me
Mirror is true (but the reflection is cracked)
False truths won’t set you free.
(BRIDGE)
Dreaded are my locs
Dreadful are my thoughts
Locked away in my cerebral box
Cast away like abandoned lots
Got dreadlocks down below my needs
Beatles in the sound
Help me get around
Got hair like my ancestral Swedes
Brain damaged by Floyd
Brain examined by Freud
(PRE-VERSE 3)
Can I get a fix
Feelin’ a little sick
Like when I was six
Trippin’ over a stick
People like to stare
Like I’m some disease
But, I don’t care
I do as I please
(VERSE 3)
Ridin’ on a train
Lookin’ for a change
Freedom from the chain
Leaves me feeling strange
Lookin’ a little strange
Beaten by the chain
No time for change
Ridin’ on a train
(Pre-Chorus)
I got my time
I got my rhyme
Beggin’ for a dime
Beggin’ for your time
(Chorus)
Bittersweet is the love (Sweeter than the lime)
Smellin’ like a clove
Burnt up in a stove
Rotting in a grove
Shrapnel of hardened nails
Pouring down like the rain
Storing away the parlayed pain
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
Lyricists Inc.
D.A.P. / Digital Analog Productions.
David A. Porter 3/??/18
I've been riding on rails fat laid
ready to toot
I got a blood shot eyes and a bag in my boot
I'm in hot pursuit of a prostitute
Well there I come I hear the bell's
I've been stretching some skin the either smell''s
I'm so high I cant come down
Got my head in the clouds, and my feet on the
Ground
on a desolate road lost in my head
I'm hell bound and I'm almost dead .
I feel like the book that never get's read
but you'll read this , I'll be on your lips
like a Judas kiss
live down this
you got what you got and that's all you get
I'd bust your head bit it's full of ----
I'm the wickedness that you read of
I'm the devil cast down from up above
for a twisted little thing ,and you want love
get on your knee's to the God above
you begged for that , but you got this
now your on my lips , I'm Satans kiss
live through this.
James...................................
P.S. October 3rd 2011 will be 13 years off Meth
Lifting tram rails in 1940,
he was aware of the Louvre...
was aware of a cameraman.
Now we see a black and white world,
where leaves on trees have shed their green,
and the sky is a wish-washy grey...
We see the tram rails piled untidily,
and a bicycle boy on right
fearing he'll be late for school.
We see his and rail man's Paris of 1940
with years ahead of war in Europe,
and now bereft of trams.
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7/10/2015
Contest - Open Poetry
Sponsor - Charlotte Puddifoot
4th place win
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Featured poem for week of Sunday, 14th February, 2016.
Rice is really great if you're really hungry
And wanna eat two thousand of something uncrunchy
Does that sound weird
How about corn's ears
Okay I'm off the rails, wanna play rugby?
It was Christmas with all the holiday cheer
It was a lovely Christmas tree that brought the feeling to preserver
But what made Christmas stand out it was my B&O railroad I am talking about
It was a layout of Baltimore & Ohio railroad being a thrill
My locomotive puffing smoke at free will
It was those passenger cars all lit up
Backgrounds with scenery including a tunnel
As a kid, it was the highlight being my funnel
As my B&O train set maneuvered around the track
It’s my reflection of memory that dates back
The passenger train that made a stop in my house
There’s no room for even a mouse
There are much more words I could say
However, I am sharing with you on this day
B&O you journeyed on
You are in my heart where you belong
You took me to a place being around
A layout that had a small town
You brought me to my own home being filled with love Christmas bound
It was a family celebration and how sweet the sound.
Steel Will and Iron Rails
Hard rumbling click-clack – ever forward
locked within a destinations track
cursed by rising hills – unchanging future
choking on the smoke of looking back.
Driven by the pistons of life’s demons
time racing by its coldly focused eyes
condemned to ride into forever’s sunset
and never turn around to see it rise.
Shadows of the specter daily taunting
a loneliness that serves one selfish end
hope that ‘neath the cloak cold boney fingers
point to a place the endless track must bend.
12/30/2016
submitted to – Poet’s Choice – Poetry Contest
Contest Name : Inspired
By : Wilma N. Neels
train
moves me
shape new thoughts
right from the start
tracks
220620111555
Life off the rails
Do you ever lose perspective? Does there come
A time in your life when it seems the world
Is all a bit too detailed and complicated?
It’s like that just now for me, and I’m not
Sure which way is up or down and which is
In or out, and whether life is short or it’s just
My height.
What I need is a personal guru, to set me straight
and give me the good oil on people and life.
Some revelations on when is friendly also interested
And should I act my age, when all about aren’t quite
There yet; and should I go with the flow and seek
A partner for a lifetime, or just as long as it lasts,
One night or two?
Have I lost the big picture, can’t see the wood
For hugging too many little trees, got lost in the
Fine print of life? Is “what the heck, why not?”
A sound rule of thumb for operating my life; and
Should I be more sensitive to subtle nuances and
Less reliant on a wet fish slapped forcefully
In my face?
I wish, sometimes, I could step back from each frantic
Day and sort out what’s worth it and what’s just
Pedalling faster, but going nowhere. Maybe then I might
Work out what I want from life; set some goals
That don’t just mean more work and study, or longer
Runs or better scores. Maybe I might just find someone,
Or just some peace.
A tale with no road maps, no signposts, or mile posts.
Snowstorms stench of winter's busy breath;
dagger dances;
trampled plants plead.
Flings a wanton pebble; on mud, a sparrow thuds;
wing-clipped parakeet limps; eyes freeze with awe.
Azure sky mourns, clotting clouds together;
tear-flood bleeds healing earth, yet drought's monarchy reigns.
How long, how long should we long for
drizzles, gently sprinkling drizzles?
disconnected
thoughts arise — die.
Syllables- 12/10/4/4 12/10/10/12 8/8 4/4 (howmanysyllables.com)
*A 1st Place* in the following contest (judged on March 8, 2021)
March 1, 2021
ALL YOURS (Mar 8) Poetry Contest
Contest Sponsor: Brian Strand
I walked the rails out of my town this day and saw many things.
Train tracks are different marking a way that is often rank.
Weeds are here seen to conceal trash and rubbish a wild wind brings.
Building has bare back to rails with its loading dock being blank,
old sad car stored in yard having house owned and kept by a crank.
Street fronts are different, laid out for automobiles and such.
See there's an empty glass bottle unbroken some person drank.
Rail's path is lonesome trek; I doubt if I love it very much.
This sickness haunts me
It eats at
my brain as I
attempt to compartmentalize
the virus before it
spreads
further
down
my
nervous
system.
There’s a pitter followed by the patter- all from the pit in my stomach.
As the haunting seeps into my bones and tightens the wires of my being.
Surrounded by compressed wooden sidings, miles from the closest soul surrounded by nothing more than souls…
The train howling outside the window slowly fades dragging my mind far into the
empty forests that this run down city is surrounded by.
Not even nature has the cure to these tightening strings.
Piece by piece the train scrapes at my skull
like an ice cream scoop digging into the bottom of the cookies and cream cardboard container-
Just trying to make one single scoop of sweetness that is so temporary it changes forms in an instant.
This sickness haunts me
not even writing can cure me