The gado* crashes past sweethearts'murals,hearts already broken,
Vapor groans like weary wraiths of last day' pledges,
Skins glow with Vaseline,faces lit by deceptive affection-
Who dares to feel?
Her fragrance wafts blending with metal breath,
We exchange looks,the calm betwixt us murmurs like power lines,
Outdoors,level plots fade in a murkiness of dirt and nostalgia-
I almost speak
But at Langlaagte* too soon she's gone with the throng,
Only the echo of her kindness marks my seat,
I scroll through unfamiliar smiles,phony love returns-
Between stations,hurt.
Gado--South African slang for train
Langlaagte--A train station in Johannesburg
A journey rendered, framed, and set
as plaster comic book panels.
Flip through the Way of Sorrows.
Peruse condemnation to sepulchre.
No matter the church, I found and compared
each episode through ten-year-old eyes
that scrutinized every detail.
Digested the mechanics of suffering.
These fourteen were my first gallery.
A restated traffic jam of nudity and frozen
sadism that floated above me as priests spoke
of love, faith and doing unto others.
I recognized violence when I saw it, the cruel
slapstick in the mortification of the flesh.
Thorn in brow, nail in palm, scourge on back.
Gladiatorial voyeurism. Masked in reflection.
It sounds like the angels are throwing furniture at each other
Such crashing and bashing! I listen to the hard rock channel
There is a lull; I peek outside. Rain drizzles down my window.
I switch stations to classical; the kind of music you find in Fantasia.
Lightning flashes outside smash along well with the frenzy in this music.
or Down Winding
The shoes went
up on the
line back to the
buildings
to pick up
the news
Sometimes I could just scream out loud
For we don't stand out in a crowd
I guess to some we look the same
We have no face, we have no name
It's hard to say just how we feel
As a small cog in a big wheel
So much that cannot be explained
So easily we are contained
And there are those so far from here
That stand above, that are revered
They toss the coin then write the rules
And pass the pages to the fools
Obedience is never asked
And authors are ever masked
It's been this way since time began
There'll be no changes to this plan
So here we stand within our frame
I often think we are the same
From diff'rent worlds, diff'rent times
With diff'rent outlooks, diff'rent minds
It might not come down to one's worth
Rather the station at their birth
No matter the path that is run
We're the same when it's all said and done
When I was young I wasn't much into hugs
or prolonged touch..
I tolerated a peck on the cheek or a kiss
on the forehead before falling asleep..
Probably due to my older sis and her bear like
hugging, a mixture of love and her strength,
that often felt like a mugging..
Many a time I'd balk at requests to be hugged,
two bodies colliding.
It felt too intrusive to me and awkwardly confining.
My second husband changed this all and in time
my hugging dislike was solved.
He gave such secure and comforting hugs, my body
would melt with the strength of his love.
Once a client asked me for a hug at the end of his massage session.
This is a definite red flag for therapists in that profession.
In these recent years now I live alone, several hours from family
and my native home.
At times I miss the intimacy of a hug, that close and calming connection
that leaves one feeling snug.
I'm certain there's others who feel the same way. Why don't we have free
hugging stations for humans today?
You go to the gas station and get a free hug, while the car's tank is filling you also feel love!
The train
Trumpeting its way
On rails
Through tunnels
Busily sliding
Nosily whistling
Arriving stations
Leaving stations
Hearty hugs
Sad wavings
A journey with stops
With people embarking and disembarking
Just as life with ups and downs
With different expectations and dreams
Another Whistle Stop
Whistle stops wait for lonesome midnight trains
Recalls starlit sentimental journey storms
Shivers in express downpours, pelting rains,
Whistle stops wait for lonesome midnight trains
To sing a litany of train refrains,
Rumbles through restless lullabies forlorn
Whistle stops wait for lonesome midnight trains
Recalls starlit sentimental journey storms
To sing a litany of train refrains
Whistle stops wait for lonesome midnight trains
Shivers in express downpours, pelting rains
Rumbles through restless lullabies forlorn
Recalls starlit sentimental journey storms
Heartbreak punches tickets for hope reborn.
6-22-21
Contest: Write Me a Trionet
Form: Stanza 1 ABaAabAB; Stanza 2 aAabBb
Sponsor: LM Hankins
summer
foreshadows
satisfaction
Winter
deepens
cold
autumn
unravels
trees
spring
projects
smiles
when i die send me 2 Thunder Bay
thundered thunder bolts r 10 dbs
Nipigon River Bridge Recharging Station currents
regenerate thunder like brook trout roe
restocking fishing rods 2 ur net,
brook trout wear speckles not glasses,
revolted thunder bolts r 200 dbs;
give 10 loonies to the aboriginal station guard
who’ll cross u 2 station No 8
Nipigon Bridge Lightening Cove,
where lightening recharges
from 1 GW to 10,000,000,000 watts;
when i die i’ll put 100 loonies on my eyes
4 the recharging station guard
2 choose 2 join the recharging
thunder or lightening at the
Lake Nipigon Recharging Stations
Plans fly
through the windows of time
in midsummer ...
Fires heat up
loving hearts
in full winters ...
Loves celebrate
hidden solitude
in cold autumns ...
Flowers around
the tender souls
in spring colors ...!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=08v3eEgy1SU
Jesus, when you fell to the ground under the weight of a great cross, doggedly following the soldiers on the dusty trail, you were whipped with their lashes and kicked , until you went down. Oh, how they must have hurt you Jesus, as they ignored your pain and pierced your head with a crown of sharp branches.
Jesus, the cross you had been carrying got suddenly very heavy. You became weak and ready to faint. When you fell down, no one came to your aid. The soldiers wanting to get home, just yelled and told you to get up and move one. They asked Simon to help you carry the cross, but still they despised and humiliated you, my beloved one. Bravely you rose from the ground and taking up your cross, you continued ahead.
For the sake of your wayward children and for the sake of love, you never once faltered nor gave up.
I called the police station but there were no cops.
Every single police officer was at doughnut shops.
My store was robbed and I hate the cops guts.
None of them would do anything until they finished eating their doughnuts.
By the time they were through, the robber was long gone and so was my merchandise.
If you ever get robbed and want to call the police station, you really need to think twice.
Criminals are getting off scot-free and it causes everybody a lot of distress.
There would be far less crime if doughnut shops would go out of business.
On arrival we kiss.
On departure we weep.
Lives so different merge.
Lives so similar diverge.
Watch All Other TV Stations
Except FOX, all other news TV Stations watch,
Because all up things Fox does seem to botch;
Whittle away,
Night and day;
More irritation caused when Fox carved a notch.
Jim Horn
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