It seems so long ago
is if in days of old
When the locomotive riding the tracks
always had a red caboose at it's back
Inside the cupola the conductor riding high
if any trouble to the train he could instantly spy
As children would wave is the train would ride
the conductor smiled and waved goodbye
The caboose would protect and provide
a shelter place for the crew to abide
A stove for warmth and hot food
lanterns, tools, ledgers and bathroom too
A desk for the conductor, bunks for the crew.
But all good things must come to an end
the caboose was removed on a financial bend
Replace by FRED technology scored
All the crew and caboose not needed anymore.
Just a simple device on the last train cart
allowed railroads caboose and crew to depart
Flashing Rear End Device
the money it saved to railroads was nice
Nostalgia feeling hard to explain
when now a days you see the train
Something is missing it does not look right
without the conductor smiling and waving in height
In his cupola on top of that red caboose
along side the brakeman for sight to boost.
Itching
itching
nowhere
to scratch
Rambling
rambling
balling
the jack
Freight car
open
voices
interred
The brakeman
singing
"Turn
"Turn
"Turn"
(Dreamsleep: April, 2024)
Hornby's Corner,
I overheard
as our train whizzed past
the clanging railway crossing
to the commuter station ahead.
Used to be a station,
with the best ice cream
in the world.
In the summer, we would come
after church on Sunday.
We had contests
to see whose cone
lasted longest
as we watched
the trains rumble by
and waved to the engineer
and the brakeman
in the caboose.
Dad sold the farm
years ago,
they live in
a condo nearby.
Last summer,
we took the kids
to the Corner
but the ice cream
wasn't very good.
The old steam engine chugged trying to reach the top,
Slowly it inched as the pressure valves were about to pop.
Just a few more feet and it would start its journey down,
And it would then be up to the brakeman to keep them from over shooting the town.
Well it made the top and started picking up speed,
And they slowed down the shoveling of the coal, cause there wasn’t much need.
You could hear those brakes a squealing as they tightened the wheel,
They had to get her slowed down fore the next curve or they’d all take a spill.
About that time dead ahead on those tracks,
Another train was a coming, a clickety, clack.
The old engineer was a blowing on his whistle, whoo, whoo, but to no avail,
For twas a runaway train, with an engine from hell.
A hundred thousand tons of steel, slamming together, makes an awful loud noise,
An on that curve took the lives of that crew, all mighty fine boys.
They had no place to jump, so they had to make this final ride,
And as the news gave way their womenfolk cried.
These ideals I avoid
Perplex me most annoyed
So wrapped up in myself
Faith kneels down on a shelf
Lost beyond conceit here
This azure mirage sphere
Claims my journeys aren't done
Since trials have just begun
I let you down again
Rage abhors the brakeman
My blood denies its roots
While my consciousness loots
Belief denies assent
This foul bile shall ferment
Dissolving from within
Pasts fixed with a clothespin
Just what spawns this wild hair?
I'm still trudging nowhere
Hoping won't stop my slide
Staggering from bromide
Pupils reveal my loss
Those dots can't reach across
That vast gap in between
What my third eye has seen
My rods and cones race off
When truth and faith face-off
Behind suns where you hide
Outbursts lurk deep inside
Far too brilliant to face
In our system's crankcase
Blazes fume from passions
Ebbing holy rations
Prayers burn as they stroke you
From caustic residue
I don't deserve your trust
Since toxins sear robust
Holes within your design
And visions most divine
Dash from my open eye
Begging for your reply
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