The Lonely Weed Poetry Contest
Craig Cornish
I set out across the country,
hitching a ride on boxcars
to wherever the wind takes me.
I tumble here, and I tumble there,
across the steel of eyes,
voices of condemnation,
and the hands of fate.
Yet some days are better than others.
For I bask in the green grass.
Other days, I hide through the cracks,
lonely, dark, and cold.
When I'm hungry,
I take the soil from crying babies
and disrupt the lawn.
Along every stop,
I ward off the pesticides of life,
teetering and tottering with the pull of the wind.
It could be windier ... it could be sunnier
It all started on a whim.
How many railroad ties will it take to get from here to where I'm going. Aimlessly rolling along the tracks without noticing the boxcars of baggage I'd been stowing.
So I slowly started sifting through forgotten freight as my rebuild picked up steam. Piecing myself back together with my updated route now clearly seen. It took grinding my gears to become aware that it's better to swap in hope for fears.
Eventually I'll find my way to where I am supposed to be. But for now I'll just ride the rails with my engine running wide open and free.
GO GO
GIVE GIVE
GENEROUS @ @ GENEROUS
GIFTS GALORE | | GIFTS GALORE
BUTTERFLIES BELONG B BUTTERFLIES BELONG
BANKED BESIDE BOXCARS U BANKED BESIDE BOXCARS
MONARCH BUTTERFLY WING T MONARCH BUTTERFLY WING
LARGE VIBRANT ORANGE T LARGE VIBRANT ORANGE
AND BLACK MARKINGS I E AND BLACK MARKINGS I
LOVE YOUR JOURNEY R LOVE YOUR JOURNEY
SEE YOU ACROSS F SEE YOU ACROSS
NORTH AMERICA OH L NORTH AMERICA OH
CANADA YES Y CANADA YES
TO MEXICO GO TO MEXICO GO
EGG LARVA AND G EGG LARVA AND
CHRYSALIS WE O CHRYSALIS WE
MILKWEED IS MILKWEED IS
YOUR HOSTING H YOUR HOSTING
FLOWERED O FLOWERED
PLANTS M PLANTS
BORN E BORN
GO GO
Hark, Hallow Dark my dear pal, Titans Mars
rally Martian stars, tag team game Play--Card
Black, Naturals -- rare place reason, Blackguard
quandary, battlescarred, halt? Pass? Have cigars?
Smart-aleck, hmm! facial--compact, boxcars,
ugh! gawdawful. Beauty Triathalon,
He'll be back straightaway, mayhaps papers?
Your facial pasted atop Front page! Bazaars
trains, sidecars, racecars, famous! Alas, Shawn,
lad go faraway places, imagine!
Wanted to ... look balanced, thats it, smart-like
Cameras I take it! Fair and Square, dawn
speaking of that man, time has no passion
I want you meet mama, familylike
Crowd of entertainment, chapeaux and gowns, of Renoirs,**
not unlike the expansive midnight sky brimming with stars.
Capture of long ago memories, like lightning bugs in jars.
Knee deep, flood high - boxes of snapshots…our memoirs.
Whimsical caricature of a lifetime - chameleon avatars.
Oft’ one changes seasons capriciously, jumping boxcars.
Fading into the sun and moon - visible and ultraviolet scars.
The Johari window opens and shuts - scrapbook is all ours.*
Perspective of us, composite flashing blades, spars.
‘til we are bathed in heavenly light, much of us behind bars.
10/6/2022
SINGLE STANZA MONORHYME
Sponsor - L Milton Hankins
Used rhymezone
*Johari Window has four quadrants. 1) Our “open book” we share with everyone 2) Things we know but hide from others 3) Our blind self - what others see but we do not 4) Things hidden from both us and others
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Johari_window
**chapeaux - hats
Icy blue water showing through thin ice
Train crossing on the bridge high above
On silver tracks worn slick with the years,
The trestle creaking, boxcars screeching
One after another streaks of daylight
Blipping through the narrow passages,
Housing enormous couplers, air brakes
Occasionally squealing cryptic messages
Graffiti on the sides with sidewalk crayons
Like strange Middle Eastern languages
Moving too rapidly to be translated,
Steam escaping, whistling for a crossing
Several miles on the other side of the river.
written March 8, 2022
A sunset with shades of orange and pink
An evening so clear with bright stars
An open, soft field to enjoy the dark night
A freight train with empty boxcars
A beach stretched with sand of vivid bright white
And water with beautiful blues
A restful place to enjoy the new day
Filled with colorful hues
A five-course meal being served just to me
With a white tablecloth is a dream
Salad and steak and the richest dessert
Of strawberries served with fresh cream
A warm friendly face, a smile in the crowd
People who look in my eyes
Respect and acceptance from people I meet
And those who are just passers-by.
Once lit by flickering torch light
with animal tallow mixed with ocher
daubed on subterranean rock walls
now lit by streetlights or LED headlamp
slashes of spray paint and magic markers
splattered on concrete bridge abutments,
boxcars, or walls of tenement ghettos,
but the message is the same
we were here.
my locomotive
pulls you with
you at the end
a red caboose
steamingly
blowing my
whistle
The train calls out to me:
with each shriek of its wheels.
For adventure awaits
in its open boxcars,
baiting; my hobo heart.
And its allure is strong,
chug-chug-chugging away.
Humming forgotten words,
screeching wheels clank along;
whistling a country tune.
I watch, as in a trance,
pondering where it's been.
I want to jump aboard,
as it rumbles by me;
and live my boyhood dream.
Clickety-clack, it rolls
down rusty iron tracks.
And slowly disappears
around a hairpin bend,
till all I hear are squeals.
Shoes
Thousands of them
Old and shriveled up like prunes
Worn leather with no luster
Shoes
Walked in by men
Men of the past who died in a scream
One loud scream
One deafening sound
An echo felt from inside my soul
Chains and memoirs
Boxcars and stolen treasures
Today I leave this museum believing I am a Jew.
10-13-17
gwendolen song
How did this happen?
Only a year ago...
Laughing, loving, living. Sudden
Occupation by men with evil intent.
Cast into boxcars like animals.
Assaulted and beaten by soldiers.
Unable to stand, to move, to think.
Selection.
Time ends.
Come and Find Me in My Solitude
four fingers in a water glass
to keep the “creep” away
four fingers in a water glass
to keep the curse at bay
no ice, let’s keep it quiet,
hard bite of whiskey’s sting
“hair of the dog that bit ya”
as the dying grey wolves sing
rocking inside the boxcars
camping beside the track
drowning dreams of a yesterday
that’s never coming back
huddled beneath “newsprint” blankets
curled in pain’s fetal ball
dreading the sounds of the sunset
fearing the crash of night’s fall
praying for death in a doorway
shivering against marbled stone
a vision through slow closing eyelids
of somebody calling him home
12/2/2016
submitted to – COME AND FIND ME IN MY SOLITUDE – Poetry Contest
All aboard the Rhode Island Line!
We're guaranteed to be on time
Grab your suitcase, grab your coat
Let the railroad be your host
Write a postcard, you will boast
about what you've seen from coast to coast!
We will make the traffic wait
stuck behind a crossing gate
Boxcars, hoppers, and sleeping cars
strung together, and going far
rumbling down the railroad track
Don't bother looking back
Up the slippery slope
Engine takes the lead
Picking up some speed
Convoluted smoky trails
Consolidated silver tails
Contemplating railroad tales
Whistles blast!
Whizzing past!
Gone!
______________________________________
10/17/14 For Andrea's "I Don't Know" Contest
Walking through a dream....
A thousand scenes with the sax playing
Aneath this breeze and amid the shade
Upon a warm summers day, to carry you away ~
While as closing your eyes and waltzing through time
Time, traveling to and fro as serenity takes hold....
Gently your hand to say what pain? What tears?
What grave? Carried away and this is your day
To simply smile while the wind blows and this sax plays ~
These dreams, that became a thousand scenes when
All you had to do was believe and then, breathe....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
....“Boxcars” *
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