Trains

Sleeping On The Rock

The winter winds whistle by from bay and sea, as if aggressively making love to one another much like we used to do. A memory that fades while a blackout swallows the light within me. The A train rumbles loudly and shakes the foundation of my home like your touch once shook my world. This stillness brings no rest. I get half asleep. Everything is done halfway now. I am half of what I once was. You were a Sandy-esque hurricane that blew me away only to leave me as scrap and rubble as I struggle to sleep on a Far Rock. 

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Rails

 
Rattling windows
Shaken not disturbed 
Rocking passengers 
It can seem absurd 
Headed to a place
The sun has yet to rise
Some going to work
Some trying to survive 
Masses all pilled together
Just brothers and sisters
From different heirs
Traveling, sitting
Tickets to somewhere 
They all share.
 
Author's Notes/Comments: 

Riding the train in Spain. 

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tags:

My brother, the great locomotive.

What reminds you of the loved ones we have when you see or hear some things,

What adventures do you imagine or stories do you tell about them,

Why not express the love for them by showing it instead of hiding them,

It will only make you feel more proud to have known who they are.

 

When I hear a train I don't hear the train itself but my brother blowing the whistle,

I imagine him standing there inside the train driving it all over the states,

I hear the sound the wheels make as they keep on rolling at steady rates,

I listen to the train but its his stories of his adventures I hear. 

 

When I see the steam puffing from the train I can imagine the fun he's having,

Traveling all over state to state hauling train cars or people to there destination,

I can imagine him standing in the door way of the train with a big grin,

Because hes experiencing his dream as a great locomotive.

 

TRAIN SPOTTING WITH LYDIA.

I knocked
on Lydia's front door
and waited
the morning sun

 

was coming
into the Square
Lydia's old man
opened the door

 

and stared at me
with bloodshot eyes
what do you want?
he said

 

is Lydia
coming out?
I asked
who wants to know?

 

I do
why?
wondered if she'd like
to see the trains

 

I said
why would she
want to see trains?
he said gruffly

 

she likes trains
I said
he looked beyond me
at the block of flats behind  

 

who said
she likes trains?
she did
I said

 

I work
with fecking trains
all day
she's never said

 

about trains before
he said
looking at me again
his eyes trying

 

to focus
we often
go see trains
I said

 

we went  to Waterloo
train station
the other week
he closed his eyes

 

rubbed
his hairy chin
and breathed out
a beery flavour

 

LYDIA
he bellowed suddenly
I stepped off
the front door step

 

and stood
gaping at him
LYDIA
he called again

 

he opened his eyes
and stared at me
I detected life
behind the mask

 

Lydia came
to the door
and peeped under
her old man's arm

 

this kid wants to know
if you want go see
fecking trains
he said gently

 

his voice silky
do you?
she nodded her head
yes

 

can I?
she asked
he looked at me
as if I’d just

 

stolen his wallet
trains?
he said
steam trains

 

I said
yes steam trains
she said
we like watching them

 

he raised his eyebrows
and looked down at her
under his arm
resting on the door jamb

 

ok ok
if you want go see trains
go see trains
he said

 

and wandered off
inside
leaving Lydia and me
looking at each other

 

Waterloo again?
I asked
what about Victoria station?
she said

 

ok sure
I replied
and she turned
around

 

to go get
her shoes inside.

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The big train ride to New York City (with an afterword by my underpants)

So I was drinking and all that and
Had enough of Chicago at the moment
So I hopped a train to that big Ol' Apple they call New York City 
Biggest Apple I've ever seen
Nothing but a guitar a half-smile ya know
But that's about enough to get you any damn where in this world if you can perfect it
 
I went straight to the drink car and spent most of my money
All that booze and adventure propelled me those 23 and a half hours
And the kid next to me
Can't recall his name but I know he was from Yemen
Didn't speak a lick of English but that was alright 
We got along just fine
It was nice to have a shadow for a little while
A woman told me she repairs guitars and that I remind her of Hank Garland
I got nice and lubricated the first train-night and passed out in another passengers seat
Woke up to flashlights and yelling
I opened my eyes and looked out the window 
Thought I was in Europe
Castles and water and all those old things
Pulled into Penn Station and stepped my first feet on that New York City concrete
Harder than Chinese arithmetic that stuff
Wandered out onto 40-something'th street
Hailing a cab is a hell of a chore
Stood by a hotel and after some time a sketchy letter hand- off between my cab driver and an 11 year-old Asian boy who disappears into alley 
 I was on my way
Or so I thought
This was no blueprint trip
Off- the -cuff the whole way
No place to stay
But I figured SOME hostel would take me in
Little did I know ever damned hostel in the city was booked through the weekend
No plans
No disappointment
 As the old wanderer says
I went to a diner on Bowery
Got a grill cheese and a beer
Asked everyone around if they knew a place to lay my head
Hot lead from a passing by nicotine fiend
$225 a night!
Shit, I'll take it at 3 in the morning at this point
Wandering, guitar subway playing, made some money at least, Central Park, ecstasy on a rooftop apartment with 3 strangers, stopping in at every bar in Manhattan to try at least one beer,
 
It's not true
Everybody in New York City sleeps
Except me
(To be continued)....
 
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Kitty Communes with Trains

From every home I've ever known
I could always hear the distant groan
of trains in passage to their station,
whereabouts of which I've yet to gleam.

Even now, in a denizen's bed,
when star-pierced fog does reign overhead;
the strings of the heart will tighten thus
when the burdened locomotives weep.

The feline, my company, alert -
quite wary of the sounds of this hurt -
responds with a mew and a quiver,
lost in frantic dissonance, yet still.

Planted on pads and prodding the sill
whilst chirping in dulcet tones until
I stir and twist and claw at the air,
and he leaves his perch to lay beside.

Bundled with a bare knee, I commune
with the cat as he tumbles, immune
to my pleas for affection; he doles
out his warmth by wedging between me

and the coziest spot afforded
by the place we share in accordance
with a funny doctrine writ by those
who have need for a presence benign.

Once dull-eyed stares dissolve into doze,
the parcel of fur tarries in pose,
contorted at length while whistles blow
in far, thinning distance, receding.

The night has lapsed into reasonless
morn, where trappings of logic distress
instead of soothe. With eyes chained to lash,
falling, I allow myself haunted

by the slow retreat of tethered steam
that, for a time, had ousted my dreams
and filled all my hollow with echoes
that continue their ring as I wake.

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