Trains Poems

A Song of Heavy Trains

A black child knows the song of heavy trains,
as clanging engines brought my father home.
His weary, sweaty, fat thighs bearing strain,
from cooking pots of food for those well-known.
 
We felt the forceful song of heavy trains,
not rails or trams that ride below the street.
A move that in your gut of gut does reign,
black power that

Time and Trains

throughout the years, at different destinations
even through four seasons and twelve months
the trains come daily, arriving at the stations
people board during work days and holidays
some have a journey for hours on end
the minutes pass, as couples have conversations
seconds tick by on folk's watches...

Hopping Trains

On Friday nights we’d sneak into
the railyard and wait
in the shadows 
between the floodlights for a train
slow enough for us to hop,
our hands already tingling
with the promise of flight.

We trotted beside the train,
waiting for the right moment
to grab a boxcar’s ladder
and climb to the roof like outlaws—
aware of the danger
and thrilled by it—
as the train

Changing Trains

I used to ride the train
from school to home and back,
every other weekend,
in an old Pullman car
built in the nineteen-thirties.
It smelled like my grandma’s house—
a little musty, like time 
had curled up and fallen asleep 
in the cushions.
Too warm, always,
but the clickety-clack over 
tie bars and rail frogs
lulled me to sleep,
rocking me gently
as if the

Gateway to past regrets

I thought that I had matured enought to have the strenght within me

To look and accept reality

I thought I could look into the eyes of past and accept that it has passed

Old camera i haven’t picked up in months is my only gateway to past regrets and memmories

Vision blured with tears 

I can’t get past

goodbye in their eyes

goodbye in their eyes


while waiting to catch a train,
oftentimes he sat alone at the depot
—afraid—scratching initials in the dirt
and sometimes in his head.

hours became a collision of minutes
while he watched make-believe dancers,
well-groomed gentlemen, 
and worn-out pieces of life.
 
trains chugged by infrequently
and rain pelted out musical tin tones
on an oblong rusted bucket,
singing baritone moans of

Night trains' theatre

Night trains' theatre

Saturday to Sunday, after midnight going home, the restaurant closed
Walk to the station, get on Bond Street, the train works, takes me home, 
Change at Baker Street from Jubilee line to Metropolitan line,  fast walk

In the stations and subways walked people cheerfully, men and women
Time after night, hmm, happy people traveled in

Night trains

Night trains

People in the night and the daytime, just traveling, silent lives
No one talks, someone is reading a book, and others are playing on phones
Still others are engrossed in the daily news. Interesting community. Friendship

Every day, day by day, millions of people are traveling, going to work, church, or party
But not the same experience, or

Bullet trains and battered walls

Hearts such as mine 
such as yours
should never travel
on bullet trains.

though the trip allowed 
but a few hours 
 was never scheduled, never ours
w' nowhere to go but forward
into a dark unknown.

not one to complain 
w'you tagging along
the fare's still the same, 
I always loved your song.
 
something soothing, calming
enveloping me in timbre and tone
like

Nigel and Me

Nigel likes to talk about planes
And trains and motorbikes.
He has a few friends
Who like the same.
I say to him: "Why does the piston go up and down?"
He tells me,
But I don't really understand.
I go back to my poetry books
And let my imagination soar.
While Nigel gets on his bike and makes it roar.

Thabnkful For Trains

May we be blessed to acknowledge all the wonders in our life
that have, for us, thus far accrued…
and to begin each day with a word of thanks…
and thoughts of gratitude.

Today I’m thankful for trains
and the way they make us all behave…

How when we hear that whistle 
the youngest and oldest ones among us
will
smile…run to them..and

Bridge of No Sighs

Coming down to this lost pier
Under the bridge of no sighs 
The bollards not used, no boats moor here 
Back and forth on the river they ply
Carrying tourists, and locals as well
To destinations unknown
I do not envy them, though cannot tell
Which place to I do belong 
This spatial disorientation
Is such an exhausting disorder
Dislodged, I offer

Trains

It’s a boy thing
the clickety-clack, clickety-clack
of a train along its tracks 
all manner of boys
from diapered toddler 
to arthritic codger
from suited gent 
to aproned chef
the clickety-clack, clickety-clack
ignites within them   
the feeling of freedom
and faraway places
the clickety-clack, clickety-clack
fills their hearts
with a special joy   
enlivening their faces 
with an apple-cheeked grin 
and when

Thought Trains

I wish I had a few ending words
to complete a compelling story with.
Maybe a poem
with end lines that actually end,
but then
those kind of ending
might die too soon.

That’s how a poem should be,
no defined beginnings and endings
nothing finished, always moving on,
moving into a falling away silence
that speaks out loud.

That kind of muse comes back at you;
wants

What Is Happening

What Is Happening?

Yes, the little Genie asked
What is happening?
Children aren’t being taught
To tell time,
They can’t look at the clock and
Know whether it’s one o’clock
Or it’s 10 o’clock
Who is teaching the children?
Yes, the little Genie asked
What is happening?
Children aren’t being taught
Cursive writing
They can’t write their names
What a sad thing to know
The art of handwriting
Is being let

• Short Trains Poems
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• Long Trains Poems
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