Best Tracks Poems
We used to ride our bikes,
the ones without brakes,
along rusty tracks,
trying to keep up with trains
but like life,
they moved too fast,
we always got left behind.
Even in pouring rain
we would ride all day,
never feel the cold,
never tire of the freedom.
Following those endless tracks,
like run away trains -
escaping our demons,
chasing our dreams.
But you changed the day,
they stole your bike.
Saw life as an internal battle,
always spoke about the struggle.
When I expressed through ink,
you expressed through external
egotistical fist fights,
from nights of intoxication and women,
who you claimed were your sanctum
and you always played the victim,
so I travelled those tracks alone -
with a ticket for a new destination.
Now penniless you lie there,
feeling tired, shivering with cold,
hoping the illusions will end soon.
You struggle to utter a word,
yet manage to smile -
a sign for goodbye
and I wonder what if
it was my bike that had been stolen.
Silent One
Simple Musing
27 October 2019
Racing Proud Mammoth
once steamed across wild prairie
stopped dead in his tracks
In my town and only 90 feet
from my house run a pair of old tracks,
railroad tracks older than my house,
even older than me, and I am
become old, very, very old,
like a tree whose branches betray it
with every strong gust of wind
as they fall to the ground,
leaving less and less of the old tree....
I used to walk in between
those carefully laid iron rails,
stepping lightly on the worn wood
of the old ties as though
they were made of glass....
I walked the length of my small town,
I walked the world: I walked where
passenger trains carried vibrant lives
and their once warm, now cooling dreams,
and I felt part of each life,
now gone to ether and mist--
so too shall my lonely soul
ride those rails one bright day....
Still, a freight train comes by once
or even twice a week, and I thrill to hear
its wailing horn as it cries out
for a forgotten glory, and the ground shakes
a bit as the old train lumbers slowly
by my house and I wait a holy wait
for the music of its rumbling and
the cry of its old heart as a young
engineer pulls the whistle and
sees not that he is driving Eternity.
[n/a in Brian's 'Completely your choice, #6 contest, judged 9/9/20]
I just stopped in my tracks
hearing those beautiful verses
soft, sweet, and a little bit sultry
What she called broken English
drew me near and
ripped my heart to pieces.
I came closer and saw
staring...
those rich chestnut eyes
roasting on a fire deep inside
the smell of lavender fragranced the air
from that flowing fauna hair
floating me through fields
of wildflowers...
Bright yellow and white daisies sang out to me
surrounded by bold blue Pimpernel
and purple prairie clover..
my mind was drifting away
Then you noticed me and smiled
a big how are you smile
stopping me again in my tracks
It was then and it was there I knew
there was no turning back
I knew my love I've found, in you
TRACKS THROUGH TIME
The Sand and pebbles of this stoney
way
Once made a shore on warm Jurassic sea
High dunes in desert, by great ocean bay
Now heathland slopes and barrows that we see
These tracks between the heather fronds
touch light
Cross pine tree hurst with gorse in blossom gold
Once paced by tiger, brazen eyes burned bright
And swarthy hunters skilled in ways of old
O’er neat home gardens - flowers bloom in line
Where thrush and warbler each a sweet air sings
Within a span of geologic time
Great pterodactyls soared on scaly wings
Our world, perceived by some: in dire decline
Goes on with little care for our brief lives
Yet we may play a part in its design
At least as wardens - lest it be our shrine
Snow has spread a canvas
over the forest floor,
and I see how alive
the woods are:
tracks tell the comings and goings
of furry and feathered things.
The foxes have walked on the ridge,
their trail straight with purpose –
unlike the squirrels’ Brownian motion.
The pheasants have printed arrows;
perhaps
I shall follow
their directions -
who knows to what treasure
they may lead?
December 26, 2017
There’s a house out across the creek,
just an old rundown two-room shack.
Each time I drive out past it now,
those memories come flooding back.
It’s the house that held my childhood,
where all fifteen of us were raised.
A loving piece of treasured youth,
only a pile of sticks these days.
It was a different story,
back fifty years or so in time.
A hillbilly man and his spouse,
lived happily there in their prime.
They would fill your empty stomach,
though they could barely feed their own.
They had never met a stranger,
any were welcome in their home.
Come warm your body by their fire,
talk and sing ‘til your head was clear.
Warm your soul with a little wine,
warm your heart with friendships held dear.
Many people I did not know,
they went in and out of that door.
When it came time to leave they knew,
that kindness is worth living for.
That shack is barely standing now,
down that dirt path just off the road.
But to us it was a mansion,
memories more precious than gold.
We did not have maids or chauffeurs,
we were living a simple life.
Each other’s love was all we need,
that hillbilly boy and his wife.
That hillbilly boy and his wife,
they showed us the meaning of life.
Love and hope are all you need,
if you have that then you’ll succeed.
I leave earthly traces of myself with each step I take.
The tracks I put down,
are guides that others can follow, or ignore.
But within each track, I leave traces of myself,
my witness to others.
Lord, help me live my life in the shadow of the cross,
living a totally surrendered life.
For when my last breath is drawn,
all that will remain are the tracks I’ve left
that pointed another to you.
My ticket punched, the fares been paid,
a train sits waiting, rails now laid
My ticket punched, the past on hold,
a future scorned, the present bold
My ticket punched, the whistle blows,
its light shines distant, truth aglow
My ticket punched, a burning thirst,
a heart to quench—new tracks in search
(Villanova Station: March, 2017)
The road trip
music up
tracks of life
Treks of Tracks of the past, current and future, we make
Treks of Tracks of a noted past:
Made mostly in our childhood days
This upon playing childhood games
and implicated in innocent playground escapades
Treks of Tracks of the past, current and future, we make:
Treks of Tracks of a notable past:
These made mostly in our long ago childhood days
This upon playing childhood games
and implicated in innocent playground escapades
Treks of Tracks left on dusty baseball diamond fields
and behind schoolyard scenes
This like those of our first fresh young puppy love endeavor
Then, a graduation to be a high-school novice, neophyte, newcomer, neutered
Treks of Tracks, present:
These present paths are made by repeated foot-falls
that are made one ahead of the other
These are a dusty foot print shown
A Trek of Tracks, that are of good and bad
These are filled with a composite collection, of people,
friends, lovers, comrades hugged, faced, embraced or chased
Treks of Tracks, made and left walking or driving on long roads
Tracks of Tracks, left and placed on many white sandy beaches
Tracks, made frolicking on wet rainy days
Tracks, made in the snow and racing home
Treks of Tracks, of our achievements put out on
full top trophy display
Treks of Tracks, on pen and paper revealing our soul
Treks of Tracks of imprints of events we are making every day
Treks of Tracks, future:
These are to ponder and contemplate then commence
Yet, Treks of Tracks, of our future are already hidden in place:
These are given paths to choose, as a Yes or a No
That it is to take or not to take, this is our future fate
This all eventually will happen with no prolong debate
"These are the Trek of Tracks we make"
deer tracks
leading to chomped impatiens
gunshots in the woods
A little girl played along the railroad tracks. Walking on the rails, playing in the little station house. Waiting for her friend the engineer to blow the whistle as he came around the bend. On special days he would stop and lift her and her mother into an empty box car , then hurry back to the engine, open the throttle, the steam would hiss and away we'd go. Ill never forget the sound of that chug-chug-chug getting faster and faster until it seemed we were flying down the track. The journey wasn't far, about 5 miles. . A short trip but an exciting one for a child who lived miles from the nearest town. We would spend the day playing in the river and picnicking on the shore. In the afternoon we'd catch the northbound and return home tired and happy. It was a simpler time, we didn’t worry about the legality of that little ride, or for that matter, the safety of riding in an open car with our feet dangling out the door.. we just lived! The train was
a big part of my life and I still get a thrill when I hear that far away whistle in the night.
the hiss of the steam
down the tracks and round the bend
back to my childhood
1/8/15
Above the fire
Next to
The gnarled
Moose head
Single snowshoe
Desert varnish
Dry window
Cold
Air
Windless
White
Night
Snowshoe tracks
Deep within my heart
Fear not! Fear not! Fear not!
As you trudge through alien mud
Trudge! Trudge! Trudge!
Through parts that hush
Scuttle! Scuttle! Like cattle!
By tracks return is a scuffle-
But beware as you rush
That paths may not lead to paths.