Best Station Poems
Our oldest light goes by the name cosmic
microwave background radiation—
CMB for short. She's everywhere:
fluorescent birdsong of modern offices,
hum of corner store ice cream cases.
Have you heard of her? This gal was born
screaming into freedom from the expansion
of a bang so big we're still talking about it.
Expelled from the recombination's gender-
less cervix, before there were names for things
like body, or heat, or quiet. She slid through
the pitch of first dark, not yet sure what
edges were, dragging the weight of a beginning
behind, shelter for and shedding of photons
loosened from a fire she didn't start.
Somewhere in this thirteen-billion-year drift
her lips kissed the eyelids of stars that hadn’t
learned to die yet, passed the chubby fists
of planets still cooling in their cribs. Fell into gravity
wells, bent her spine around a gape of black holes,
and climbed back up again, tired but full.
We call her background now, like she's an afterthought,
the hum of hums beneath the humming—we call her 'it'.
Add a T to her beginning and we might as well
call her mother. And when she reaches us, frail
and stretched thin, we catch her in our instruments
(where we found her), our desperate, outstretched hands.
For our effort, like a good genie enduring a bad rub,
she tells the story of our origin from a certain point—
then distracts us with tricks when we ask her about
the end of it.
The whistles screamed that cold dark night
Winter, 1903
At least fourteen would perish
Way out on the prairie
The westbound Sunset Limited,
Eastbound Crescent City Express,
Met head on in a collision
Lives lost in great distress
Horror met the rescuers
Two twisted trains in flames
Of fourteen known to've perished
Of two, were not found names
A hundred plus years later,
On the date and pre-dawn hour
We'd come to the memorial plaque
With Teddy bears and flowers
Holding our thoughts in silence
We walked along the trail
Remembering the violence;
Their deaths upon that rail
Precisely 2:50 A.M
What was it? We don't know
But in our silent vigil
We heard a whistle blow
Sounding clear across the night
Once long, Three short, Last long
But there was nothing in our sight
Praying - we moved along
Our memorial under silver stars
For those perished on the track
Ended as we got in cars
With one last look-
a century back
We'll never solve the mystery
But do we need to know?
Commemorating history
We heard a whistle blow
The smoke is a question mark...
My view of you is covered in gray
You pause, look back, then walk away
You’ve neglected to open your umbrella…
Tomorrow, under a different sky
I will listen to the songs of yesterday
The world leaves behind a sign language for broken hearts
It is cloudy, it is beginning to rain…
Goodbyes are bitter ales we drank today
I look again, through the smudges of the day
We are going to leave behind a trail of smoke
A sound like a tired mother calling in her child
The train whistle rings in the dusk
I take a last look through the window
I have said my goodbyes
The train begins to move
We are leaving the station platform
Tears weep down the window
Spilling over the imprints of my hand
I found myself dry eyed and my throat too tight to speak
Finding a place to put the carry-ons
People are chatting, settling in
Happy, excited, anxious to be departing
A thin straight lift and a gray, silvery curve
Like a sickle for harvesting the first star…
The smoke is a question mark
___________________________________________
"Write A Backwards Poem"
Above the firmament, crossing over the rainbow
Riding on those clouds, an endless trail of loving you
I am a freed butterfly in frenzy from a red cocoon
I’ll taste your kisses, so sweet like flowers in bloom
When I hold your hand, you tightly hold mine
I knew from the start, our hearts will entwine
Your passionate embrace makes it all divine
I’m besotted with you, our heartbeats go in rhyme
I love you with all my heart Mi Amor, my love
Our betrothal is a song swooshes into a pair of doves
Te amo con todo mi corazon, God knows from Above
I love you with all my heart, Mi Amor, my love
A Valentines treat for you, you’re in my station, Station in Love
Feb. 16, 2015 10.25pm
©2015LeonoraGalinta
I’m trying to catch up this Valentines Day 2015 by sharing with you a simple Valentines poem. I hope you will enjoy. I love you with all my heart my dear poet friends and PS Family! Sending you all my sweet Valentines Day’s Hugs and Kisses!
….I also composed this poem with the inspiration of a beautiful place we visited last Jan. 23, 2015. This place was called Station in Love found in New Land
there's a spot on the horizon
in the ripple of the sun
where railway lines and stanchions fuse
and merge becoming one.
I was staring from the platform
when a distant dot appeared
it grew in size and shape and form
and sounded as it neared.
I caught blurred faces turning
as they thundered by so fast
to briefly glimpse where strangers met
each thursday in the past.
back then the steam and music
lit up life's black and white
- by tugging strings when love went wrong
rachmaninoff was right.
She
rides the
slow slide of
her guitar blues
knife ‘gainst fretted strings of pain and pleasure
with hours to kill on train of love in vain
fields of fireflies
find their groove -
songstress
burns
It resembles the London Underground inside my messed up mind
With a network of confusion
And Tracks that twist and Wind
Tunnels full of darkness
stations now disused
I don’t know where I’m coming from or where I’m going to
terrorists detonate their bombs of devastating hate
My trains delayed
signals are down
and now again I’m late
The Homeless have all given up
Theres Drunks full up with booze
Lost souls decide to take that step
What have they got to loose?
The Pigeons flap
leaves on track
Tourist’s are trying to navigate maps
Feel the wind as the train pulls in
Reluctant for my trip to begin
Carriage is crowded, we’re packed like sardines
Music is blaring from head phones of teens
There’s too many sights, there’s too many sounds
There’s really no room now
commuters wear frowns
I want to get off
I can’t take anymore
I’m searching for the emergency door
But it’s moving too fast as the world wizzes by
Holding my breath as I try not to cry
Feelings Of Turmoil inside my brain
A maze of disorder
I’m clearly insane
I long to escape from this madness and fear
The tannoy comes on
my station is near
I pick up my pills from the box by my bed
Swallow two whole and I lay down my head
When Will this torture ever cease?
My breathing slows down
And I’m feeling at ease
I slowly drift back now into calm
floating free until my alarm
A former place this, a patch where roots rattle,
where stubble has a ferrous frizzle.
A long truncated railroad stop
humming still within a surrogate reality.
As dry voices on the wind, they return
- the homesteaders and journeymen,
the harnessed horses.
Pants' cuffs carry kernels
long planted elsewhere.
Caps, coats, and carts
employed again by the magnetic
echos of an iron labor.
The brown weeds are talkative.
Brown boots seem to shuffle.
A hollow clock clacks,
its guts a nest for ticking birds.
Dandelions anticipate
a faraway flight,
A mid-day heat
thrums fragmented rails.
The station seems almost ready
to receive
as if its world
had not disembarked forever.
Pecking quick, a parting kiss
Pumping legs, a train to miss
Lovers waving, strangers pass
Tears and hugs a whistle blast
Scanning papers on news stands
Pats on backs while shaking hands
Averted eyes and hurried walk
Can’t stop, won’t wait, no time to talk
Pushchairs, wheelchairs, screaming kids
Cardboard coffee cups with lids
Departure times on TV screens
Red light, amber, go is green
Somewhere, nowhere, never speak
Laughing, crying, faces bleak
Turned up collars, downcast heads
Business suits and tardy threads
Briefcase, suitcase, traveling bag
Folded papers ,glossy Mags
Hustle, bustle, teeming by
Oblivious to earth and sky
Don’t stop don’t look and don’t ask why
Ticket punched and journey paid
Click the stopwatch
Now you’re dead
The earth is sleeping under the blanket of fog,
daylight gently awakens her from her stupor,
misty mountains melt in the magical morning,
as each step surprises us to what lays ahead,
The clouds float by, spreading their chillness in the air,
wispy breeze blows past sprinkling wintry cheer around,
atmospheric brume brushes away all boredom,
hovering haze heightens our heady adventure,
The climb uphill is as fuzzy as it can be,
vapours blur our vision and view of the valley,
beauty of the place is hid behind cloud curtains
with the biting weather assaulting our senses,
Walking through the clouds in an ethereal feel,
the presence of God is tangible than ever,
words cannot describe the artistry of that place,
some things must be experienced to be fathomed.
12.29.2020
On high-back benches
weary shoppers clutch their parcels
and slump.
Wrapped in a yellow green haze
Van Buren station sleeps
beneath Chicago's vibrant streets.
Outside, on wood-plank platform
we drink-in the coffee warmth
of October's fleeting sun.
"South Chicago, 23rd, 47th, 53rd, 57th"
Like some unraveling mass of I-beam steel
the tracks begin to rumble and shake.
The slant nosed Metra comes and goes.
Across the tracks in autumn plume
Grant Park displays her rows of golden elms.
A nor’ east wind dances bow upon bow,
with a gentle sway that shears away
a sifting rain of harvest leaves.
"Park Forest South, 23rd, 47th, 53rd, 57th"
On the slant nosed Metra
I hurry home.
Rose fingered dawn appeared early today
at the island, East Brothers Light station.
From Benicia hills I caught the first ray.
Now, absorbing my share of sun's ration
on this islet in San Francisco bay.
I early watched the night, battle, and chased
by the minions of a bright new day.
On the East wind, a train's horn as it raced
to who knows where or what destination.
And I wondered, too, as to my endpoint.
Sitting here in mellow contemplation,
face filled with the solar afirmament
of a life not without worth and valued
at least in the number of good years totaled
[In Loving Memory of Jack Nowack]
Smoke billows up into the midnight air,
As flames now engulf a house down the street,
And neighbors wake up to fearfully stare.
A loud alarm calls strong men to their feet,
And they all dress up in protective clothes;
Which help to shield their bodies from the heat.
Safety comes first, as each one of them knows–
For the danger they face is very real,
And this is when their true bravery shows.
They run to slide down the railing of steel
That connects the upper and lower floors;
Then decide who will be taking the wheel.
They quickly board the truck, and close the doors,
As the sirens blare, and the engine roars.
© 2018
with each passing train
the house trembles
aborted dreams
strangers in the night
the creaking floorboards
she cheats on him
wafts of warm
spiced paratha bread
her aroma lingers
- - - - - - - - -
© paul callus
Orbiting earth, a man made creation
It looks like a moving star shining bright
It's the international space station
Big as a football field; an awesome sight
Orbits the earth sixteen times day and night
Launched in November nineteen ninety eight
A huge four hundred and fifty ton weight
Six men and women form the stations crew
Always a concern it may gravitate
So orbital height they have to review.
Written 17th May 2020
For Dizain - Poetry Contest
Sponsored By Dear Heart .