Railroad Poems

railroad ties

the smell of my youth 
curiosity of danger 
on coming train

Destination Never Reached

Walking, walking, walking!
Impossibly long stretches of walk,
Miles and  miles of uncertain journey,
In blazing sun, in sweltering heat,
Tranquil villages with shady trees,
Home, the destination!

Thirsty, hungry, bleeding, exhausted!
With fatigued wives and starving barefoot children they trudge,
Little babies hanging like sandbags from their shoulders, they stumble, 
Tears dry on children’s cheeks!

Men and women…they walk, walk, walk until

House by The Railroad, 1925 by Edward Hopper 1301

"Maybe I am not very human - what I wanted to do was to paint sunlight on the side of a house. There is a sort of elation about sunlight on the upper part of a house. Though I may influence genius, the only real influence I've ever had was myself. No amount of skilful

railroad tracks

lost distraught crisp leaves
 blend into new home on old 
rusty railroad tracks

We Are Canadian: As One We Stand

We came from the beginning, shrouded mists of time and space,
And in this vast and northern clime each found our sacred place.
We were our country’s pioneers, the people of the land,
We lit the flame and then became the first Canadians!

We came on ships across the sea; with help from those before,
Pushed frontiers three hundred years,

Edward Hopper: House By the Railroad

bathed in still shadows
from an afternoon glow
and wrapped inside splendour 
half faded and gone
this house from a time
remote silent and slow
stands trapped by the past
in a world moving on.

Yancey Railroad

I was young – no more than twenty
Just a child in the minds of most nations
Even back then, I believe I had plenty
There was hope and grace in my foundations

Even at that age, I knew I was being given
A moment in history, a memorable time
My young husband was definitely driven
And he, too, was healthy –

We Heard a Whistle Blow

The whistles screamed that cold dark night
                                         Winter, 1903  
    

Ole Eighty Seven

Ole Eighty-seven, rugged and vain,
Serpentine on cold iron rails,
Story filled with strength and pain,
A legendary iron horse tale.

World-renowned freight train of yesteryear,
Lives ever in  glory and fame,
A roaring chain without peers,
Ole Eighty-seven, her hailed nickname.

An expression of past golden days,
Its piercing whistle wailed and cried,
In early morn misty haze,
Slithering down the steep mountainside.

Ole Eighty-seven,

Virgin Highway

A train runs Cape Town to Cairo.
It will be through here by and by.
The route is straight as an arrow,
It’s like riding clouds through the sky.

The Train Set

lit up with the power to attract and excite
and framed by a window of the toy shop that night
a miniature world of trains, bridges and hills
took my mind off the cold from the late autumn chills.

there were signals that moved and tables that turned
and lights in the engines as if coal had been burned
frustrated by

Baltimore Heat

In heat
the pulse of your streets.

I've heard the crack
of hard political whips
that pinch the air.

Cores of human topography,
your aging neighborhoods.

Your people kick cans
counting gravel like jewels,

while chiselers roast dogs
in the courthouse.

Swine flu kills
the papers.

And already the sky is
feverish.

In your train tunnels
a violinist plays pianissimo. 
I've seen
railroad men search for him
along your tracks.*

But you are always
the

Tribute To Dawn of Day: Stories From the Underground Railroad

Tribute to Dawn of Day: Stories from the Underground Railroad

From
Tennessee 
Virginia 
Mississippi
Kansas
Wisconsin
To free states in the north and Canada 
I grieved  upon the grave of the slave
Tears circling the tomb
Securing his name 
For their bloodshed
From whips and blows 
By the masters and relatives 
On the countryside
Down south  
Oral histories and tradition passed down

The Ode of Phineas Gage

This is the story of Phineas Gage, 
A man who died at quite a young age, 
But his death is not what he’s famous for, 
His fame comes from what went years before. 
 
Working the railroad, he was struck by a rod, 
Only survived, some say, by the grace of God. 
For the iron

Railroad

trains of thought
emblazoned with slashrune graffiti
children count the cars

• Short Railroad Poems
• Famous Railroad Poems
• Best Railroad Poems
• Read Railroad Poems
• Long Railroad Poems
• Railroad Quotes