Long Railroad Poems
Long Railroad Poems. Below are the most popular long Railroad by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Railroad poems by poem length and keyword.
Beneath the city the river fishing is good.
I roam with tackle and pole below those wiggling tapeworms
Wound around the cement underbelly of bridges
Devouring the guts of the city’s glamour
Down here where shadows are long as green moss
And the voices of old black dudes echoes to casts
“Damn motherer, you crossed my line!”
Splash.
To catch catfish on a wad of bread is a worthy fight.
It takes shoulder chest and wrist and it’s not just the fish
But the current of the Grand River pulling us over
That sucks us in like a Thanksgiving ladle
Into a whirlpool of brown gravy spilled on a dinner table.
The trouble with catfish is that they swallow the hook
Beyond the use of pliers
And when they’re too small
We cut the line
With a lack of guilt like Old Testament God
Throwing the creature back
Hoping for a miracle.
Logs are tipped over along the gooey shores
And upon them painted turtles sleep
Sunning like leprosy sores.
Even from down here in the cool mist umbrella from summer
We can see the smokestack vapor
Twisting overhead like a genie rubbed from its lamp
Thin at its head thick at its feet still stuck in its copper mother
Arms outstretched like a Christ-cloud spooking the sun.
There are other mysterious pipes
Lips rust red as strawberries
Bloomed from the banks dripping silver
While mouthing a lullaby
To the muck
Like a whore at the end of her exhausting shift.
A railroad bridge rattles to life
Swollen by the axles of its returning soul
A freight train pounding out the Blues
A rhythm meant for bass and drums
That part we don’t sing
But the swing that keeps our foot stomping
And in that noise
Software girls flutter about like orange ribbons
Untied from the hair of the downtown towers
Drifting along the river trails at lunch
Jogging in pony tails and pink shorty shorts
Fingertips stuck into their cotton ears
Ever on the lookout for us
The creeps.
The trick is to not make eye contact
I mean us with them
The fishermen the engineers the long forgotten wrenches
Screwing cranks turning knobs yanking hooks from helpless fish
Drilling the pylons through chemical gold
That holds up this magnificent city.
Lord, I need you like the soil needs the RAIN because like the earth, without you, I am dry as a desert.
Blessed Lord, I need you like the body needs the PAIN to inform it of health issues that otherwise would go unnoticed. And I need you like the leper needs love, compassion, and understanding. Without you Lord, I would be like the lepers who feel no pain, but with you
I feel the pain that tells me I'm hurting. Then you take note of me and heal me of my many wounds.
Dear Lord, I need you like The Dead Sea needs to be DRAINED. She receives but never gives; she lets in but never lets out, never lets go. Because of you, I share this Blessed Faith that you have given to me.
Lord, I need you like every living creature needs every VEIN as a conduit through which the blood flows, giving and maintaining life. You are my everything and without you Lord, I have no happiness, no joy, no life.
O Lord, I need you so much like the railroad tracks need the FRIGHT TRAIN. For without your spirit Lord to keep me on the right track, I would be forever lost.
So Gracious Lord, these and more are the reasons why I need you so, and forever by your side I shall REMAIN.
01302018 PS Contest, I Do Need You So Lord, But Why? James Edward Lee, Sr.
Outside My Window
By Curtis Johnson
Staring at me up a slight hill, from my front window, there is a cul-de-sac. Outside my back window, over the road and embankment, is a railroad track. I am most proud of my little bird feeder, that helps humming birds stay on tract.The road is a rather busy one, between my fence and the railroad embankment. And there are a few trees lining the roadside, but making a quiet statement. It’s the statement that simply says, “We are here, helping to fight the erosion". There are five trees consisting of a fruitless mulberry, Which I might add, hinders my views of the sunsets. There's a Rose of Sharon. There are three fruit baring trees; an Orange, a Lemon, and the other a Santa Rosa Plum. From another side of my home of few windows, I am afforded a caring look at my garden of vegetable treats. In addition, there are two tall palm trees and several other trees from which I can pull a peach. And lastly, there are the squirrels who don't seem to get enough of all the nuts and seeds in my back yard.
Cj09232015 (contest)
Growing up, there was hardly a day when I did not CROSS a railroad track or a roadway. So it isn't hard to think of train tracks when I see the word 'CROSS'. We were taught to be very careful at railroad crossings, and our school buses stopped at all railroad crossings. Also as kids, telling the truth with 'words' were not always enough to convince others. Somewhere in childhood, we learned "To CROSS our hearts and hope to die" in order to be believable. Everyone felt 'that act of heart crossing' was proof that no lie was being told. But above all other thoughts, I must say that Christ's death on the CROSS is the most often and most vivid thought and picture that comes to mind when I see or hear the word 'CROSS'. In my mind and belief system, everything that matters with human existence centers around the CROSS of Christ. Before Christ(BC), human hope rested upon and looked forward towards that CROSS, and our present reality now looks back to that same CROSS.
02272019PoSoupContest, Cross, Your Interpretation, Carolyn Devonshire; 3P
When the west was young
Town’s people among
Mountain high and Sunshine warmth
Rugged detail
Vast land landscapes
As miles could see
The Stagecoach days
History from then to present
Breezy sir
Flying prairie dust
Reminder when horses were the ride
Gunsmoke atmosphere
The Cowboys and Sheriff who were connected as foes
Railroad sounds in the distance of Steam driven engine smoke announcing passenger arrivals
Drunken environment of Saloons
The memory of Cheyenne, Wyoming
Western style
As the sunset fades and the prairie dust kicks up
The ride into the distance towards the sunset
Town people’s chant, “Y’ALL COME BACK
Mom in teardrop
Memories on cheek
A moment in movie
Moving emotion
d
o
w
n
w
a
r
d
I need those tearjerkers
I need to feel the past
Not merely leave it
All behind
My mom’s not in the ashes
She’s in my heart’s cache
Dreams and reality mix
A cross upon my mother’s chest
Have I left that room
I have room left for joy and sorrow
An elixir I drink during the holidays
f
o
r
w
a
r
d
Dad’s legs move him
Once again in someone else’s car
He goes where he doesn’t want to
But he’s still glad to be with family
Is he still back in hospice
Waiting for Mom
To die
To kiss her one last time
To collect her rings
Which he pleasured to give her
When he proposed and married her
Did I tell you, he proposed on the railroad tracks?
It’s Christmas Eve
Time stops us in our tracks
A baby born, a Son executed, our hope
Our
h
o
p
e
My mom’s middle name
Stand under the proscenium arch
Listen to show tunes till doomsday comes
Dawn with the songs of ever lasting darkness
Tap dance your last dance on Broadway
Burn the last lime light down
Take midnight with you
Pay no tolls until you are told to
When leaving New York City
Buy a Hybrid Prius on the road
Equipped with liberal intentions
With a west coast radio and global warming controls
With a turn signal leaning left
Place your index finger and thumb on it
Push down until you get to somewhere rainy
Stop!
Think before you start
Follow signs to California
Wait for a fault line crack to appear
Watch it become a Democrat
Move gently and friendly towards green
Hug a tree for me
Never become an old white man
Elect some one young with hair
Avoid bald spots at all cost
And railroad Catholic crossings
Register as a Liberal
Turn on CNN
Read the New York Times
Just stop! ….. I'm getting car sick
Let me out
Time well spent is behind you
Who needs a mind when you own a Prius
MAXWELL STREET BLUES BEGAN PLAYING ACROSS THE SOUTH WATER MARKET FUNNY GROWING UP IN THE VILLAGE WE ACTUALLY MOVED INTO THE BUILDING 1968 CHRISTMAS FROM THE WEST SIDE THERE WE WERE LOOKING FROM THE TEN FLOOR WINDOW I WATCHED THE CITY OF CHICAGO BEING BUILT MY COUSINS AND I COLLECTED WHITE ROCKS ON THE RAILROAD TRACKS ACROSS ROOSEVELT ROAD LEADING TO STATE STREET CARRYING MASON JARS FOR INSECTS CATERPILLARS AND GRASSHOPPERS MY MOM FORBID ME TO PLAY WITH BUGS BUT IT WAS OUR THING GROWNING UP IN THE VILLAGE WE FOLLOWED MY UNCLES ICE CREAM TRUCK DOWN 18TH STREET TO TAYLOR STREET LITTLE ITALY FOR ITALIAN ICES AND CHICAGO HOTDOGS THEN JEW TOWN SHOPPING AND LISTENING TO THE BLUES MAXWELL STREET WAS THE BEST MY AUNT WOULD PRESS MY HAIR WHILE BOBBY RUSH BOBBY BLUE BLAND AND BB KING PLAYED SOMETHING ABOUT MAXWELL STREET THAT MADE MY SOUL SING SOMETIMES I DIDN'T LIKE HEARING THE BLUES ON MAXWELL STREET HEARING THE BLUES DOES SOMETHING TO YOUR PSYCHY IT BRINGS DEPRESSION UP CLOSE AND VETY PERSONAL SINGING BLUES MEANS JUST THAT RATHER POSTPARTUM DEPRESSION HAVING A BABY COMING DIWN WITH BABY BLUES OR LIKE LOSING A CHILD WHEN MY BROTHER WAS KILLED IN THE VILLAGE MY MOM SANG THE BLUES WE WEREN'T ALONE MAXWELL STREET WAS FILLED WITH A LOT OF TEARS MAKE NO MISTAKE AFTER LOVE THERES TEARS MAXWELL STREET WAS FILLED WITH MANY TEARS MANY HOLD UPS ROBBERIES MURDERS KIDNAPPING HOBOS THE SILENCE ALWAYS CAME OVER THE CITY OF CHICAGO WHEN THE BLUES STOP PLAYING ON MAXWELL STREET
YOLANDA JOY NICHOLSEN
MAXWELL STREET POET
JEWTOWN
The other day I took a trip to visit uncle Joe
A steam engine was a chugging oh how I love it so
I went and bought a ticket from the man behind the bars
First class I would be traveling among the railroad cars
A conductor checked my ticket so I could board the train
As the engineer was tugging on the whistle oh so plain
I set down in my seat it was so plush and firm
For soon the train would leave the station as the wheels would start to turn
I am off to see the sights before I get to uncle Joe
A day I'll spend upon this train with its entertaining show
The people here around me all have plans on what they'll do
For some it is their first train ride for others it's nothing new
The train has left the station as the engineer floors the throttle
Oh how the land is passing more speed would seem his motto
He has to slow it down when the crossings comes in sight
I'm glad I'm not the one who shovels all the coal oh what a fright
So many people wave they see the train in view
Now we return the favor as the whistle blows so true
Soon will come our meal that will taste oh so grand
Just as the sleeper cars will send us to another land
A new day has dawned as my destination nears
Excitement fills my mind as it drowns out all my fears
I see the station in the distance as the train begins to slow
Now who should be a waiting but my uncle Joe
Writte January 7 2015
When I was a girl we lived near railroad tracks,
at night I loved the sound of the train whistle blowing;
it was such a haunting, lonely sound,
and I wondered where it was going.
Oh. how I longed to hop on that train and go places.,
I would sit by the window and imagine I was on the train;
the huge diesel locomotive pulling us,
I would have dreams of Paris.
It was whimsical and fanciful there with the Eiffel Tower,
and Notre Dame and the Louvre, then a quick stop in Vienna;
home of Mozart and Beethoven, and many others,
all these places I visited on a whistling train.
And then, we would sway along to Rome with a clung,
I wanted to say hello to the Pope- we went to England;
and I introduced myself to the Queen,
soon, we would be chatting over tea.
In my reverie I was not alone, never ever alone,
for I had brought along my sweet little Odele;
she was a kitten tucked in my pocket,
now, off we go on my train . . .
to some dreamy places . . . .
_________________________________
October 28, 2019 (Re-write from 2015)
Poetry/Narrative/Dreamy Places
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1191-939-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to FTI Blog Series 11 - places
Brian Strand
Podium Place 1