Long Railway Poems
Long Railway Poems. Below are the most popular long Railway by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Railway poems by poem length and keyword.
I can never comply with fastidious hygiene
Try as thee most persuasive person might,
he/him, she/her,
they, them... can never wean
yours truly always objected
being told when to bathe/shower
particularly when puberty
found yours truly a tween
and my mother (deceased eighteen
plus years - sess her bowl),
she exerted authority
and told her "take a bath,
or no supper"
analogous to a queen,
strict disciplinarian to boot
who wedded her king
(my late father) at age nineteen
the latter (day saint) quite keen
nevertheless both experienced
love towards each other
and tricked out their progeny
(myself included) with halloween
getup, I vaguely recall Amelie Beth
(their eldest daughter -
older sister of mine)
donned as an angel
lighting up night sky, an empyrean
permanent heavenly fixture
popular through Byzantine
epoch, which blinded
her brother (me),
cuz yours truly, the devil in disguise.
Here I sit scores of decades
now edging closer to the edge of night,
and approaching those twilight years
remembering protesting vehemently
(way past the bewitching hour)
not wanting to wash myself
in the tub (water frigid cold), I write
how mother dearest,
whose presence I wanted to smite
this puny progeny
grappling as a neophyte
whose Lilliputian stature
(when a prepubescent)
a over five feet in height
who when constantly
teased courtesy bullies
ran back to ma mommy
whose son totally affright.
If employed in social services field, why
the above might justifiably
smack of insubordination
hashtagging me as Pigpen thereby
wharf fare prompting me
to cleanse myself diving off a Quai
in an effort for Peanuts gallery
to accept yours truly well nigh
but unfortunately
getting mistakenly captured
as a prisoner of war
forced by Japanese to construct
two parallel bridges spanning
the river Kwai
as part of Burma Railway,
also called the Death Railway,
for the many lives
lost in its construction,
but my daring do,
(and boyish good looks)
found yours truly
whisked away to the island of Hawaii,
where hula dancers
choreographed, entranced, and finessed
their seductive routines
a native lass smitten courtesy
one wily word wizard
whose courage bucked up
after munching powder milk biscuits
taken as mistress
helped beget our daughter,
who became apple of mine eye.
Lost and Found
My name is Daniel. For 70 years--from age 14 to age 84--
I was incomplete, bereft of mother, father, my identical
twin brother Joshua, and all my boyhood friends who were
with me that day in 1944.
Some of the stronger men had strained and struggled
to force apart the bars on the window of the railway cattle
trailer packed to capacity with Jews bound for Auschwitz.
The results of their labor was an aperture large enough
for the egress of very slender people--like Joshua and me.
"Go, my precious ones!" cried my mother.
"Go, and LIVE!" said my father. "GO NOW!"
I grabbed Joshua's hand and pulled urgently. He wrenched loose:
"I--I just can't! I love you. Good-bye."
It was in this manner I escaped terror and death, but--Oh, there
was so much I could never escape. Each day since then, I have
seen their faces--those anguished,tear-stained faces, especially
Joshua's. Soon they were all dead; they had to be, didn't they?
I grew up, married, worked hard at a fulfilling career, raised three
fine children with my wife, and played joyously with children and
grandchildren--but still was incomplete.
On mild spring day, the greatest void in my life was filled when a
stranger approached me at the park and said, "Daniel (he knew my
name), a very important person is waiting for you a few yards ahead
on the next bench." Then he just walked away.
Sitting on that bench was the near-mirror-image of myself. He stood
and smiled broadly. He had my eyes, my build, my crooked smile,
my snow-white shock of hair. Then he said it--he said "Daniel"--
like no one else who has ever existed could say my name! It was
then I noticed we were dressed alike--same style, same colors!
He told me of our parents' deaths from starvation, of his escape from
Auschwitz, of the life he had lived, of his seventy-year search for me.
My heart broke, and I begged his forgiveness for presuming that he
was dead--that they had all died at Auschwitz. Then he spoke the words
that dried my tears: "I've nothing for which to forgive you! You must now
forgive yourSELF and be whole."
We are inseparable.
Hundreds of people escaped in route to Nazi concentration camps and from those camps.
written for Silent One's Long Lost Family Contest on July 22, 2016
The Ghost Train
North Wind, it was a howling, the sky was black as guilt
Malevolent the sheen, where upon her moonbeams spilt
Through the murky distance, her belly glowing bright
Roaring down the line, she was roaring down the line
Charging down the line, the Ghost Train rolls tonight
She glides along the platform, where haunted faces wait
With dreams of grand ambition, that only she can slate
The driver in his blood red suit, turns a skeletal grin
Toward the hungry hopefuls, then ushers each one in
From store to fire, his actions deft
The fireman twisting on his plate
Stokes the engine right to left
He fuels the fire of fate
He mutters and stutters, “We can’t be late”
For time is money and money won’t wait
With shovels full of human desire
He fuels the fire of hate
The whistle cord is pulled, the flag flutters all clear
The engine she is plied, starts the journey into fear
On it goes a rumbling,
On it’s round iron feet
Inside the folk are tumbling
From every leathered seat
Amid the laughter and the chants
What life, what love, what times
Everyone is held entranced
By ghostly railway lines
Tittle tattle chatter, ash from the chimney pours
Natter rattle clatter, onward the Ghost Train roars
Strange games are played
Some win some lose
Sincere thank you’s become mislaid
As each the other use
Beneath the load the earth she quakes
As all aboard debauch
Done deals and shady handshakes
On every carriage porch
Kerching-kerching-kerching, the till bell rings
More-more-more, the engine softly sings
From store to fire, his actions deft
The fireman twisting on his plate
Stokes the engine, right to left
He fuels the fire of fate
He mutters and stutters, “we can’t be late”
For power is waiting and power is great
With shovels full of human remains
He fuels the fire of hate
In never ending search, she roams across the land
Controlled by the evil, of the blood red suited hand
Through the murky distance, her belly glowing bright
Charging down the line, the Ghost train rolls tonight
If it pulls into your station
Will you jump upon its frame?
Will you lose all inhibition?
On your way to wealth and fame
For when the ride is done
There’s no-one else to blame
If you find you become
Another furnace flame.
Down here,
is an abysmally dead world!
The sun shines at night while the moon
Illunates the busy day
Plane run on railway tracks and let the
Train fly up there in the sky
Ship have taken over the road and allows the vehicles to sail on oceans.
Our soldiers returned home joyfully and send their wives to the war front,
While they breast feed the babies at home.
People die of hunger seated before a banquet
A flower planted by the riverside die of drought.
Out there,
you do not dodge potholes, you only choose the one to enter.
Down here, water stick between our teeth,
Fishes run helter skelter into the forest,
The mountain minted into water as the streams flow into the deserts in horror;
And rivers rise above the skies for safety.
Stars descend to the grassland for cow's milk
The heavens are rented by the wild beast of underground.
To see a man of reputation here is like looking for a virgin lady in a brothel.
On this land
Mother taught us how to smile sitting beside a corpse,
How to cry when we see a man succeeding;
How to giggle watching the hell fall on us fiercely.
Watching here like a dry tongue
looking like shadows from old men,
Looking like a garage filled by slippers.
This land died yesterday
This land never gave us shards of new beginning,
She died leaving a quatrain walked out of it body,
It died owning wounds in our heart...
The day Nigeria died was the day we littered the skies with accusation fingers blaming the government of every fly that crossed our path.
She made our joy dissolved into shreds of sorrow. Lack. Pains. Calamities!
When you see a child sing in the fireplace,
he either sing of his lost mother or father or his only palm fruit.
Nigeria died in our hands and knees
Spelling this spit of fire from my sister's lip, the beneficient knowledge of dead show how illusion killed many of us.
The day Nigeria died, she died in our palms crying of her lost prestige.
Oh!
A country of glee!
Oh mother land! Oh father land!
We'll sing no more dirge at your grave
Those flowers shall we gather home
We've failed you and killed you looking at each other eyes to find the culprits.
Go well till we make you better by 2019.
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent
Captain Waller & Perth
The Japanese navy they came south,
Invaded Indonesia, in 1942
Cruiser Perth of 6 inch guns,
Captain Hector Waller was to choose her,
De Ruyter, Java , Perth and the 8 inch guns of USS. Houston,
They fought battles against overwhelming odds,
Dodged 5 torpedo attacks till sunk were the 2 Dutch cruisers,
Waller took Houston with him, back to Indonesia,
Reload refuel to fight again, fought to the death, not losers,
These 2 game ships attacked the invasion fleet,
With guns a bloody blazing, fired torpedoes and sunk,
Some Transports , damaged Cruisers , quite amazing,
point blank at Destroyers chasing,
till one of a hundred torpedoes hit,
And Perth went down still racing,
Houston she sank about 20 minutes later,
Japanese thought they fought a Battleship,
So much damage it was crazy.
Don Johnson
http://www.gunplot.net/perthww2/Perth.htm
Captain Waller continued on at half speed in an effort to stop the ship taking more men with her when she finally went. Then her bows dipped gently down, her stern raised out of the water, only one of her four screws still turning. It was said she did not sink but 'steamed out'. Her much loved Captain last seen in the glare of the flames, on the bridge, giving orders.
Houston, after a similarly heroic performance also went down. Perth's total complement was 681. Of these 353 were lost in action, 4 died ashore and 324 were captured, of these 106 died whilst prisoners of war 53 of them on the infamous Burma-Siam railway.
In all the Japanese had lost fifteen ships and could not believe that a Battleship was not present. A report in the Syonan Times in Japan in 1942 read - In the terrific battle in Sunda Strait many ships on both sides were sunk. It must be remembered, however, that the lighter Nipponese ships were fighting a superior force which included a battleship".The Japan Times made a similar admission.
Commemoration $5 coin minted by the Australian mint to mark the 60th. Anniversary of the Battle of Sunda Strait.
In 2002, the Royal Australian Mint produced a special $5 coin depicting both Perth and Houston, designed to remember the 60th. Anniversary of their sacrifice, and sinking, at the Battle of Sunda Strait in 1942.
What's in a Name?
by Preston Hill
The Sun gives birth to dawn. We meet for the first time. We introduce. What’s your name?
We chat respectfully- all the while the sun continues to rise.
To think that once long ago in the cradle of humankind an idea sparked knowledge.
Testing, poking, prodding the mind, pushing thought into expression.
What was then an idea to be spoken was finally written down.
Pictograms on cave walls, diagrams of the hunt, the battle.
Pictograms on clay pots depicting commerce from a life long ago.
Pictograms on parchments that develop shapes, gestating onward to the formation of letters, words, ideas.
Of contracts, agreements, mortgages, governments, constitutions, proclamations.
Pictograms on chalkboards, blackboards, whiteboards on which an idea will be conveyed.
And children learn, apprentices advance, executives and politicians chart budgets and trends.
Pictograms on buildings, bridge abutments, railway cars declaring “This place is ours”.
And as ideas spread so did humankind. Wars and peacetime. Love and hate. Dignity and honor.
All emotion within passed from one generation to the next as the sun climbs higher in the sky.
And on one small piece of ground a family, a clan, a tribe, a village began to grow giving titles to their neighbors in relation to their geography.
Mr. Rock, Mr. Hill, Mr. Rivers greeted with a jaunty wave of the hand.
Then John had a son. Then Samuel had a son. Then Lars had a son.
Yearning for identity, Mr. Cooper, Mr. Smith and Mr. Baker began to teach their trades and build a future, contributing to the economy and serving others.
Soon, the village grew into a town, the town into a city. Nations and states formed and families, clans, tribes and cultures pooled together with separate and distinct idiosyncrasies.
In every language and aspect ideas spread, carrying seeds from the beginning.
Leaving their expectations, hopes, fears and dreams imprinted on the pages of history.
And as the sun reaches its apex, I look at my watch. You ask me, “What’s in a name?”.
I reply, “The world”, then smile politely and change the subject.
Still smarting from stupid scamming fraudsters...
five months ago to the day
Twas the cusp of tooth thousand
twenty three summer solstice,
when yours truly (a fool
and his money went separate ways)
mine cherished nest egg,
I would immediately miss
lesson immediately learned courtesy takeaways
linkedin with looted
checking and savings accounts
analogously yanked, unmoored and unbridged
at Citizen Bank quays
me subsequently exhibiting,
maddening, and snorting
re: imagine how figurative
unbridled horse's ass neighs;
a fate engendering
mental anguish on par with
voluntarily unrolling Scottish welcome mat
readying yours truly
being lynched courtesy kkk
(I apologize for any
incantation, incrimination, incubation,
indiscretion, insinuation, intimation, invitation...),
cuz metook poetic license
attempting to accentuate brazen crafty deception,
how con artist invoked tender loving care
while (all the while) stealthily employing
stealing gambit, which hack
by the way incorporated his suppressed hurray
for him positively coaching me
invisibly eliciting, interposing, manifesting,
questing, and ushering entranceway
into sought after vaunted money
synonymously enlisting sprinkled pet accolade
such as "good job"
never disclosing discerning ulterior motive
exacting a risky (business) mission
unlike dramatizing the WWII story
of the Thailand-Burma Railway
regarding those soldiers who built
Bridge over the River Kwai
in the former scenario exhibiting
how yours truly (me) did betray
requisite necessity to protect
fungible assets of mine
by voluntarily cooperating
with the enterprising villainous prankster,
who applying one alias
called himself "Harvey Specter"
guiding blindsided yours truly
(who received nincompoop of the year award)
obliging scoundrel to withdraw cash willingly
and convert sain moolah into bitcoin
(a type of digital currency
in which a record of transactions maintained
and new units of currency are generated
by the computational solution
of mathematical problems,
and which operates independently
of a central bank) courtesy digital wallet,
which nefarious experience found me
posting a gofundme page to no avail!
I’ve never given much thought, about the last train to Auschwitz
for indeed every train, was intended to be ones last,
Except for the guards, who sit atop the cattle cars
As the human livestock, slowly asphyxiates behind bars
not giving them a thought, or a care in the world
except maybe, what great jobs we have
Sit up here smoking, and joking, oblivious to the choking
Just shoot anything that try’s get off,
An absolute no brainer,
For only those without brains,
have no feelings or remorse
This one and only requirement, fully endorsed
Besides it keeps them away, from the Russian front
they’ve heard all the stories, about that hell hole
where they run over prisoners with tanks,
No thanks
Switch off out here, in the country air,
as the wind rushes through, aryan sun bleached hair
And the moans and groans continue, all very routine
Stench rises and falls, in wafts and palls
Quick Fritz look, Fräuleins in the fields wave and call
Raising up rifles, greetings from SS railway division to all
Cream of the crop, only room for special ones on top
Full stop!
Whistles shrill,
RAUS! RAUS! SCHNELL! SCHNELL!
Screams aloud, above the putrid smell
as the chimneys belch ash, over an indifferent hell
Bewildered cargo pours out
Protestations, my baby, my mummy, my daddy, is dead
The reply, a heavy truncheon blow, across the head
Get into line, you dirty swine
Selection process begins
Whilst guards have a chat and a grin
on the horizon a thunderous din
Russians are closing in.
Indeed this was the last train to Auschwitz
and now it’s pulling out
as the guards banter and shout
Hey Fritz! where you going to spend, your bag of gold teeth
Fritz says Bolivia, how about you?
Franz laughs back, somewhere further, that doesn’t stink like your feet
Meanwhile the zombies bedraggled clothes
are already in transit to (CANADA)
Not far from the crematoria
Not that far away at all
Last Train to Auschwitz Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
15/4/2021
(CANADA) = warehouse and sorting area in Auschwitz.
German RAUS = out, SCHNELL = quick or fast
A bend in the road
They wait & have time to wait
For the coming car & it´s occupants
Unaware of their fate
The same scene is about to be
Played out on countless
Other bends
On countless other roads
In a tall building she sits
By a window with a perfect
View of the plaza
With the cause of great
Trouble in her lap
Elsewhere wires are
Strung across paths
Rocks rolled onto
Railway tracks
The world in this hour
Will not be the world
In the next hour
Revolvers wrapped in
Newspaper passed under
Café tables
All the blast fixings
Delivered like takeaway
Food after dark
Knowing looks & nods
Between players
Of the certain game
All the church clocks
Will work for us
Give new meaning
To time
No longer the metronome
Of drudgery
Necessary traffic flows
With purpose
No waste or want then
Surrender your crown
Your garden behind
High walls
Your private stretch
Of river
There will be no need
Of weapons
To turn the blind
Sighted
The gravity of this
Future
Will lighten your step
No more ties to the
Unseen force that
Held so many under
Scorn & doubt
Are old & unwelcome
Currencies
That will buy you nada
Not even time
Did you expect death
Or exile?
There are other ways
My friend
To convince you
If all you ever used
Were maps to worn out
Roads & ghostly cities
Strange names
Cursed names
Well here let me
Lend you this
Telescope
With
Views inward
& out
Not every battle
Will be fought
As before
Led from behind
By statues
On rearing horses
Simple words
& explanations
In backrooms
On street corners
In open sunlight
Will recruit our army
How long will they
Survive behind barricades
Boarded up windows
In unlit rooms
No treasure is worth
Exchanging for
Honest sunlight
& the sweet breeze
Meant for us all
For so long
The powerless stood
Around not knowing
Their numbers
Were an unstoppable
Tide
The walls were just
Painted curtains
The men waiting
At the bend
Know this
The girl in the
Tall building
Too
They have
Synchronized
Their watches
& soon
Very soon
You will see
What you always
Secretly knew
Come bursting
Into bloom
You have been going to that place and disguising your face, your actions are slick, and your motion is distinguished, you have been coming and going for a long time and disappearing in broad day light and in the dark without leaving a trace of evidence behind to comfort the divine.
Every day I ask the same question, is that you? and then my adrenaline race and my vein began to vibrate. I said to myself how could you be in two different places at the same time, and I think about it thereafter with lots of questions bubbling up inside. It is the male perfume that sometimes gives you away, the smell takes a long time before it fades away and the fashion that you wear highlight your innate desires.
Sometimes it gives me the creep when you are so discreet, you spend Christmas at home alone sitting on the ground and staring at the lighted Christmas tree, what mystery surrounds you what legacy awaits you; to stay in the game you have to pretend to be insane. You could be anywhere like the troll hiding under the bridge and frighten the children on their way from school.
Morning has come and gone leaving me staring in the sky watching the thick clouds rolling by and the cars running up and down the street with a banging sound that vibrates the entire ground.
I walked around the place looking for something concrete to hold onto, but your image is always there, and the birds keep flying to and fro with whispers of the man and woman trapped on the bed and how the heavens watched diligently over their head.
There is a strange phenomenon budding on the vine and the men on the railway track are standing in line, they are getting ready to protest low wages and company benefit.
I immediately clamp it down with a bugle, a drum and five pounds. The fields are thick, and the profit will make you rich. The design has broken the ice and the color in the sky spreads out over the ocean water.
When you come here next time you must confront your destiny and face the divine. The man on the corner has a pigeon heart so careful of how you negotiate with him he has committed a terrible sin.