Best Steam Poems
I feel so grand this special day in June
while waiting at the station for my ride
aboard the new steam engine coming soon
to take me to a place where I can hide
from city noise and busy city streets;
from smog-filled air and houses crowded so,
to countrysides with grassy fields of wheat
and clear blue skies where soft winds come and go.
Here comes the beauty, black, in clouds of steam;
she pulls beside the station; "All Aboard"
is called, and so I quickly run and dream
to settle down with suitcase neatly stored.
Click-clack of spinning wheels sounds like a song;
the gray steam lends the awe of mystery,
with cloud-like drifts that form and move along
while taking me to somewhere wild and free.
With constant pace, the steam train grinds its wheels
through mountain passes, narrow tunnels too.
The beauty of the valley, hills, and fields
soon takes my breath away; a wondrous view!
As on she chugs with clanging bell on top,
she sings a song of motion heading home-
that place down yonder where she'll make a stop;
my destination of new lands to roam.
January 21, 2015
~1st Place
Contest: Railroads, A Historical Glance Back
Sponsor: BJ Legros Kelley
Judged: 11/16/2021
We are all gathered on the platform
Jumping up and down with glee
We can see the smoke of the puffing train
Coming nearer to take us to the sea
We are off on a Whitsun treat
Forty children or more
Many adults to look after us
Experience told them what was the score
They heaved on wicker baskets of goodies
And crates of lemonade
We were off to Barry Island for a Picnic
Just a half hours ride away
The seats were rather hard and had
mesh racks above to store luggage for folk
Opened up the windows with a leather strap
Stuck out heads to a face full of smuts and smoke
The choc choo sound was so exhilarating
Excitement grew with every mile
Wanted to be that train driver with his whistle
To pull that chain that made the sound, bringing smiles.
Had a wonderful time on the sands
Paddled our feet in the sea
Gathered around to eat our food
Washed down for the adults with gallons of tea
Forty tired and happy children
Clambered aboad that train for home
The clicketty clack of the wheels
the sway of the carriage, sending them to sleep and dream
We were soon at our home station
So sleepy yet didn't want the day to end
Tired and dirty, had a lovely day in the sun
Starting the day aboard a steam train that puffed around the bend.
Penned January 20 2015
And in my dream-
I am on a train curving through the wilderness,
steam billows into the sky from the black engine,
and the train is rocking back and forth . . .
It is so soothing- until I realize I am alone and have no control
to get off, to stop the train and I have no destination!
Oh, we must always have a destination-
we cannot just go charging into the unknown.
I am just hurtling forward, and
this dream has become a nightmare . . .
________________________
April 24, 2016
Poetry/Verse/The Steam Train
Copyright Protected, ID 16-855-216-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to Contest 245,
sponsor, Brian Strand
Fifth Place
It's imperative to alter the narrative,
so get out a round of ream.
There's a knot in the plot,
a lost theme with out a seam..
You pause and you pivot.
The script leaves you livid,
falling short of your dream.
Stopped, stalled between acts,
little time to retrack,
as your pen is running out of steam.
A look at the world through children's eyes
Opens a bright new scene
Some things that reach a boiling point
Turn out to be nothing but steam!
Kids have a way of looking at things
We can learn from these little guys
Don't ever take life too seriously, friends
You won't get out of it alive!
Laugh at the world, it's just a game
One with the most marbles wins
What can you buy with a bunch of marbles?
Maybe a bottle of grins!
A look at the world through children's eyes
And all of a sudden you're free
Free to go round talking to the birds
To climb all those big old trees
Life was really so much simpler back then
In the morning you went out to play
Winter or summer, it made no difference
That's how you would spend your day!
A look at the world through children's eyes
Opens a bright new scene
Some things that reach a boiling point
Turn out to be nothing but steam!
and in their cold
condemning eyes ~
I am forever framed
as flawed fragments
bolted to the brutal beginnings,
oblivious to the wings of an end...
yet the intrinsic ink of my soul
knows not the art
of stirring superficial stars
~ fear not my antique antlers
caressed with copper compassion,
I am not their synonym
for emotional emptiness ~
let me breathe away
from counterfeit lies
pretending to be holier
than the highest of halos,
tainting truth with
tomb tongue-twisters
I choose to follow the rain
before the rising
of opalescent light ~
I seek streaks of sleep’s
sweet silver steam
blurring the smoke
above the veiled valley
of murky melancholy ~
traveling through the mists
of memories and magic...
I am tied to the unarmed
acceleration of alchemy,
an ambience of adoration
where poetry is resurrected ~
reconstructed amongst the
rushing resilience of rust...
I am the maternal momentum
of the mystical movers,
an unmistaken metaphor
for what sighs within the
magnetic embers
of locomotive silence,
rapidly ringing the sounds
of the sky-draped sea ~
trace this track of serene tears...
I taste time as
the ultimate revealer
of what beautifully remains ~
deep in the depths
of delightful devotion,
no longer a grey amongst
the steel of stolen secrets…
I resent having to be patient when
that’s not a virtue I much value
Why can’t I enjoy being in love
oh yeah, because you’re not ready to
be that guy I long to please.
I resent that in the love department
part of you is a clumsy teenager
and you expect me to teach you
what you’ve never bothered learning.
I resent that you have trouble understanding
when all I do is clarify expectations
and I leave the rest to you.
I’m buying into the bull and promises
that you do want this to work ~
Bull because from this angle I see
a hot air balloon that is having
a hard time getting off the ground.
Lineku: 3 stanzas of 5-7-5 lines each line having 5 or 7 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
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.
Steam powered steel wheels,
pushing pistons in cycles
of captured time.
she set a polish to the brass pipes
with a careful hand she worried them
hours like a silent moving contemplation
she worked her way from one end of
the massive machine to the other
knowing every rivet
every dent and scratch
the hot steam leaving a sheen of sweat on her
the machines labored breathing filled her ears
alive to her she spoke to it
in a loving soft whisper
she felt the gauges and levers
with the familiarity of mother and child
knew its every creak and groan
with the heart of unconditional loving care
a steam engine is a living thing
a breathing feeling entity
a life of brass for bone
coal fire for a heart
powerful
deep
living
it loved her as much as she loved it
.
Burrrrrr
That Spring that
backs press hard about
twenty toes mingle
fingers too cold to caress those
shifting hips
Mmmm
that Spring steam
from
that Spring tea
and through the window
that blazing Spring's morning sun
beaming on her
glowing
happy
pink face
Blowing Off Steam
by Odin Roark
Being a little mad is essential,
Otherwise, existing might necessitate a strait jacket.
He wasn’t alone.
Sidewalks were strewn with them,
Whether under-the-bridge encampments,
Or penthouse luxuries,
People were people,
And madness was madness,
And purging was necessary.
How tenuous the steam beneath the lid,
How quiet the whistle at times,
Desiring merely to signal the time
To pour out the contents,
Be it angst,
Or expression needing expressing,
Subjectivity seeking its objective resolve.
Yet…
He thought far too many quash the heat that whistles at them,
Fearful that boiling over might ensue
Instead of merely lifting the pressure,
Pouring the rise-in-heat contents
Into a encapsulation that can be contemplated
As it cools.
His daily ritual of waiting as it becomes sippable,
Reminded him that this little bit of madness
So essential to sanity,
Relied on finding respite in its catharsis.
He understood this momentary going off the rails
Needn’t be a case of judgmental attack
Merely a freedom of opinion exercise, and…
He was okay with being the minority,
Blowing off steam occasionally.
He wasn’t fearful of sanity’s dichotomy.
I was riding the railway tracks of my fissures
Deep into my darkest inner thoughts
Lost and dying in the snowfall of my winter
And back again
From a mental anguish like a splinter
Never slowing down to quench my thirst
From a desire to be first
And so you appeared... Mr. Coalman
Power to you, Sir!
And so I take the shovel of coal
To start the steam engine and commence my travels
Darker than the pistons you feed
To master my trade
I see the white in your eyes
I smile at the glint exposed further down
And continue like a rollercoaster...
On through the tunnels
On through the loops and slides
The shovel never leading my hands
With sweat soaking my shirt
feet never leaving my boots
Stubbornness of such single mindedness
I want to extend my hand to say
“Thank you! Thank you for everything
For all the warm nights
And safe journeys thus far
Over undulating mountain sides and unstable bridges
Just as you feed my fire
On this scenic journey,
A life still on track with the passengers I chose to bring along
For the ride you steer in spite of my doubts and fears”
There they rested on rusting rails so regal yet so stark.
An old steam engine and its caboose now sit silent in the park.
Since I was on a casual stroll and had some time to squander,
I sat upon a beckoning bench, its yesteryears to ponder.
In my mind's eye I saw this Goliath racing down the rails,
Spewing billowing smoke and hearing its melancholy wails.
The engineer consulted his watch, anxious to meet his goals.
With elbows and cinders flying, the fireman stoked the coals!
I reckoned it towed freight cars as part of its ponderous load,
And of course free-spirited hoboes, those vagabonds of the road.
I'm sure its odyssey crossed desert sands and verdant prairies,
And coursed thro' mountain cols as high as eagles' aeries.
I envisioned sleek Pullman cars it pulled with happy folk aboard,
Enjoying the grandeur of this nation as down the track it roared!
Did it witness sad goodbyes as it carried soldiers off to strife?
Alas, did it carry a hero's coffin who had sacrificed his life?
What a thrill watching a steam engine thundering down the line.
I'll return again to reminisce before this venerable shrine.
Startled by a diesel train and its raucous klaxon across the way,
I wakened from my reverie and slowly walked away.
Unlikely the explorers of the Wild West,
I'm bound for sheer adventure, not amazing discovery;
finding gold is far from any quest
while this clanking, slow-moving stream locomotive
will take me to places so primitive...
even a small ghost town has tales that conjure mystery!
Whistle along train as your steam puffs...
reaching clouds and turning them into raindrops,
California is still a seeker's dream for the unhappy folks living
in bustling cities enduring noise and pollution;
soundless are the canyons drifting
by without any fearless cowboy riding,
but the watchful coyotes will resent this intrusion...
whenever your whistle startles them when they are napping!
Whistle along train as your steam puffs,
I didn't bring along a single book to read not to be distracted by reality,
only a huge map showing me historic towns...
where daily shootings were as common as drinking whiskey!
Imagine seeing the ghosts of Billy the Kid and Jesse James
roam the dusty streets ready to start a gunfight;
see crowds gather and wait for the winner to shout...
it's like watching a Clint Eastwood's western movie drawing his guns!