Best Railway Poems
how many of you
wonder how
you find yourself
where you are now
on some fast train
that's shooting by
the world outside
and don't know why
and wishing as
it takes the bend
before it reaches
journey's end
that it would stop
to let you breathe
and disembark
then watch it leave
so you could turn
and walk right back
to all those stations
on your track
to see those places
on your list
that life's timetable
somehow missed
and walk those junctions
where you spent
time deciding
ways you went
and pull the lever
switching lines
so that they point
to better times
and open gates
that shut back then
so all your dreams
are free again
to help put right
those signal fails
you blamed when life
came off the rails?
each day we grow
we come to learn
time's just one way
with no return
but though we can't
change all before
we get to know
life's journey more
and had you changed
the way you are
your train may not
have got this far
for each dark tunnel
lived each day
led out to light
here anyway
but while those platforms
from your past
might well explain
your travelling fast
remember too
that grass unseen
grows right here now
and just as green
where taking time
might help you plan
some other route
whereby you can
move from that seat
to change your view
and learn to love
yourself as you
appreciating
all you see
before Grand Central's
destiny
while knowing hope
faith luck and care
helped drive that train
to get you there.
when industry
stood on this soil
with chimneys that
spewed sweat and toil
the furnace fires
relied on mines
through arteries
of railway lines.
now looking back
to charcoal skies
through rosy mists
of childhood eyes
a line of trucks
each filled with rocks
crawled slowly past
a signal box.
the building formed
a silhouette
that framed a scene
I wont forget:
the dying of
that worldly light
was captured there
in black and white.
I'm standing now
where true art stood:
in a 'reinvented'
neighbourhood
where sleepers sleep
beneath the grass
where once those engines
used to pass.
Waiting at the railway
Waiting by the line
Waiting for the train
Coming down the line.
Wagons on the railway
Full of goods and coal,
Engine on the railway
Hear its iron wheels roll.
Woman by the railway
Basket on her head.
Traders on the railway
Selling loaves of bread.
Travellers by the railway
Sitting on a seat.
Dogs by the railway
Sleeping on the heat.
Beggars by the railway
Sitting on the ground.
Children by the railway
Dancing round and round.
Porter by the railway
Lifts a heavy load.
Lorry by the railway
Waiting on the road.
Waiting at the railway
Waiting by the line
Waiting for the train
Coming down the line.
if the pathways and parklands
of my childhood could talk
they would speak of time crawling
before it could walk.
and when clouds hung like mobiles
on strings from the sky
I would run with my arms out
pretending to fly.
I would 'land' near the steep bank
that looked down on the track
to watch trains pass there daily
before then heading back.
in that long, lost, hot summer
when I never knew time
I would scan the horizon
through the haze on the line.
the dots that grew bigger
would soon thunder past
- they were moments I lived for
that flew by so fast.
but as clouds clouded over
that magic had gone
and as the last train rolled past me
I sensed time had moved on.
I have my ticket for the train that's to come.
I packed my bags just before dawn.
I hear the train as it's whistle blows
lots of people here with places to go.
I stood on the deck of the station's gate
smiling because for this trip, I'm not late.
I haven't seen mother, since I don't know when
and Dad's rosy cheeks and dimpled chin.
The train pulled in and the ticket master calls
Line up everyone, luggage and all.
I hurried my way to the front of the line
for I wanted a window seat for the view of
the next 100 miles.
Once I was seated and the journey began
I realized how much I had missed the country
side and all I could do was grin.
The sound of the engine and the way the steam
rolled, made me feel I was getting closer to home.
The smell of fresh bread from the diner car did
my nose greet, so I went to the diner car for a bite
to eat.
The colors of the trees and barns, painted lovely
pictures full of charm. A long journey it sure was
but seeing my family again filled my heart with so
much love.
Hours of travel finally did pass and the Conductor
called out to the passengers at last.
"Old Grove Landing just up ahead, make sure you have
your luggage as your journey has come to an end".
As the train pulled in, Oh! what a site, three smiling faces
waiting for me that special night. 1/16/2015
a stroll beneath this old stone bridge
is a stroll through time and mist
where remnants from another age
and graffiti coexist.
where nitreous oxide cannisters
and weeds and grass combine
to choke the past from the valley floor
of its long lost railway line.
On arrival we kiss.
On departure we weep.
Lives so different merge.
Lives so similar diverge.
I got on the train and was looking for my seat
The weather was hot by the summer heat
I was so tired that I couldn’t feel my feet
I couldn’t either find anybody for me to lead
I finally sat; a host came and asked me what to eat
I said I wanted some rice and a big piece of meat
But make it quick please, do me a great deed
It’s good of you for a starving man like me to feed
Then I saw a girl with a book about to read
With her dark hair held up she looked so neat
I didn’t expect somebody this glowing to meet
And with her big hazel eyes she looked very sweet
A girl like her is just what I need
If she was mine I would gently her treat
And on somebody this beautiful I’d never cheat
Now I feel that she’s the one for me indeed
I wanted to talk to her and I hoped I succeed
My heart was fiercely starting to beat
I wish I could’ve had the words freed
But I was afraid she might’ve not on me agreed
Then we got off the train into the street
I ran after her with my full speed
Grabbed her arm, asked her to marry me…..
And before her I got on one knee
She was so surprised and told me to repeat
I could not at that stage retreat
Because love in her pretty eyes was guaranteed
And with her my life would be complete
In the death chamber confines
The soul of my mind
Handcuffed by tragedy
Sentenced to death penalty
Just close to a blink of my eyes
With an illusionary greetings
Of long lives
Standing before me
Face to face – My death.
Startled I’m like the whirl
Of the breeze on cobwebs
Hanging in every corner
Of this death chamber
Not in use for centuries
Neither I can blink my eyes
Nor breathe my breath
Asleep is the fireplace
With only ashes
Decomposed in wetted firewood
Neither the wisp of fire
Nor the glow of flame.
Rusty hinges on the door
Perforated by rust
Through which holes
Smirk the gloomy bored moon
Seeking shelter for a night
A moment of unpleasant and discontent
Moans like a wild beast
Severe wounds
In inner of the minds
Moans like a cry of spasm
By unwilling sexual desire
Seduced by the enemy
In the defeated war
Echoed from the walls around
Fearing to have an ear
Will shrunk
In the emptiness of the room
At any time the electric shock
May turn the body to ashes
Only a fistful of my breath
Remaining in my body
Will hurried to rebel by
Shattering every words of my poem
Like the old railway lines
Discarded after the war
Hides its originality
In the rust and grassy grooves
Rebels of another kinds
Like the silent crater of sleeping volcano
Erupts and scatters the lava on the earth
Every word of my inner minds
That’s collected in the coarse paper
Only sensed by my wounded heart
Indeed it’s my poem.
***
Vertically they have gone to see the horizon
dividing into two parallel paths of iron and stone
nor to return or to encounter
sometimes, only crease cross
to pass trains and trams with passengers and goods
ever absurd they are;
On both the sides
modern civilization exists
mills, factories, industries, markets and localities are
in high rising skyscrapers, fashionable, colorful buildings
lines after lines vertically, horizontally
and underwardly growers they are;
Here and there wide and long hollow down bridges
over ponds, lakes, channels, rivers even seas
where ply boats, launches all the times,
sometimes through long tunnel
goes through hills, desert and channel
challenging explorers they are;
I have walked for long and long, faced long quarry
only iron and stone all through the journey
no pearls, diamond or ivory,
i have heard fierce, painful crying
but seen no tiger or lion roaring
absurd history makers they are;
I have seen cutting, burning, clearing forests
filling lakes, dishes, rivers,
leveling hills, killing wilds
for paving the paths of iron and stone,
for ever growing silver civilization
innumerable stations setters they are.
Railway journeys
Lost are travel times,
Dressed in best for the wedding,
Took an express train,
Landed up with soot on clothes,
And coal flakes in silky hair !!
Tanka- 5/7/5/7/7
Written Jan 22nd, 2015
For contest "Railway journeys" by Shadow Hamilton
Railway trains
By Stanley Russell Harris
The new mad author
& A Poetry Soup honourably mentioned poet
The trains are on the mainline track,
the old, the new, futuristic too.
On the Yorkshire four lined track today,
they huff and puff or are quiet I say.
The flying Scotsman, now restored,
burning coal now from abroad!
Diesel trains, electric, also,
their fuel from overseas does flow.
So when the screws are put on us.
Rising costs I mean so much.
Perhaps we’ll travel the old way.
By Stagecoach and horses I say.
The highway men will not plague us.
As armed police will escort us!
And if with that you can’t agree.
Best use your feet and walk you see
No matter what type of fuel!
Work our transport from the pool.
Costs will rise, see if I’m right.
And I’ll be walking home each night.
The Van-Boy got out to open the gate still in his head last night’s date
He did not notice the green signal light a train was coming though not in sight
This crossing was notorious and set at an angle getting some drivers in a tangle
But this was not on the van-boys mind when the driver he waved to come behind
The lorry driver thinking it was safe engaged first gear and let off the brake
Up the incline he had come no chance to go back now the journey begun
A careful driver all his life he knew that this dangerous crossing had taken a few
He looked down the line and to his dismay saw the Train coming quickly his way
Nothing to do now must hit the gas and take the consequences be it his last
The lorry sped over the lines so quick the bottles and crates rattling and the driver
sick
But luck would be upon his side and the lord above was to be his guide
With the memento of the weight no time to straighten through the gate
The lorries breaks were not enough to stop this speeding it was tough
The poor old fence post standing for years if it could cry it would be in tears
Out from the ground with a tearing sound the lorries front bumper tore it round
Well when the driver drew his breath and realized how close he came to death
What would have happened to his family if the worst had happened where would
they be
I hope that Van-boy will never forget his stupid mistake nearly caused an accident
But I am sure he can remember too the words the driver shouted as the air
turned Blue
Train Crossings are lethal so take your time and wait for the proper signal to
cross the line
The light toy-railway is traveling,
with the kids who aren’t anymore.
To Paris, to Brussels is traveling,
to the Black Africa too.
The light toy-railway is grieving,
for the fawn’s steps under Christmas tree,
for the luster in the eyes and
ah, for the toys.
For the Blue Bird, for the white photos,
for the hand that is putting the little star.
For the dream that’s coming true.
The light toy-railway is traveling.
Traveling.
In the death chamber confines
The soul of my mind
Handcuffed by tragedy
Sentenced to death penalty
Just close to a blink of my eyes
With an illusionary greetings
Of long lives
Standing before me
Face to face – My death.
Startled I’m like the whirl
Of the breeze on cobwebs
Hanging in every corner
Of this death chamber
Not in use for centuries
Neither I can blink my eyes
Nor breathe my breath
Asleep is the fireplace
With only ashes
Decomposed in wetted firewood
Neither the wisp of fire
Nor the glow of flame.
Rusty hinges on the door
Perforated by rust
Through which holes
Smirk the gloomy bored moon
Seeking shelter for a night
A moment of unpleasant and discontent
Moans like a wild beast
Severe wounds
In inner of the minds
Moans like a cry of spasm
By unwilling sexual desire
Seduced by the enemy
In the defeated war
Echoed from the walls around
Fearing to have an ear
Will shrunk
In the emptiness of the room
At any time the electric shock
May turn the body to ashes
Only a fistful of my breath
Remaining in my body
Will hurried to rebel by
Shattering every words of my poem
Like the old railway lines
Discarded after the war
Hides its originality
In the rust and grassy grooves
Rebels of another kinds
Like the silent crater of sleeping volcano
Erupts and scatters the lava on the earth
Every word of my inner minds
That’s collected in the coarse paper
Only sensed by my wounded heart
Indeed it’s my poem.
September 11, 2003