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Claire Nov 2015
you get so used to something;
to someone;
never expect them to abandon you
though you condoned their departure

you saw it coming

it was all experienced yesterday
except, then
it was only a distant speck
you brushed away the dust you kicked up and
ignored the arguments that weighed on your conscience

you saw it coming

yet it still hits you like a freight train
with your back to it;
your earphones in
because you were trying to enjoy a walk
on such dangerous tracks;
such thin ice

you saw it coming

so what choice do you now have
but to finally collapse;
to let it run you over
and let your
omniscient bones
break?

you saw it coming,
but you let it hit you anyway.


please, get out of the way next time.
september thoughts, november reality
Emma Kate Oct 2015
her sleepy eyes looked up to
the sunless sky that was flooded with
tiny cloud like droplets
that coated her fluttering dark eyelashes.
she was walking on the train tracks;
her safe haven.
she found her peace here,
knowing that the trains had
a destination, so she must too.
she was thinking,
about how she always thought
snow was too romanticized.
the tracks was her spot
and her spot only, until today.
he reached out and grabbed
her hand, knowing
she was lost in thought.
he understood her
something she thought was
near impossible.
he smiled at her, as the sun
peaked out, just in time
to warm both of them,
just as he had warmed her heart.
it was a moment of apricity
on a cold afternoon
just like he was the warmth needed
to make her heart complete.
Dreams of Sepia Jul 2015
Railroad track
in ole' tall grass singing
small crickets chirping
Audrey Cave Mar 2015
Life is like a railroad.
A song that never ends.
Its given and its taken.
Life. It has no end.
People live from day to day.
Without a single clue.
Of what will happen in days end.
The mist beyond the blue.
Arlo Disarray Feb 2015
Lone she walked along the tracks, thinking about death
How we lost an ounce of life with every passing breath
She limped along as she guzzled whiskey from her flask
Letting her life slip just like butter from her grasp

As she wandered further, she then stumbled into place
Staring at the sun, with dried ***** on her face
She'd quickly forgotten where she was even headed
Wasted as could be, as her brain was slowly shredded

She was trashed as could be, and got lost next to the trains
Wandering near the tracks with ***** flowing through her veins
Screaming at the loudness as her liver starts to rot
Little did she know, she was just shouting at robots

As she hollered louder, she heard a voice call back
So she looked for the source, as she was standing on the tracks
But as the noise drew nearer, she was freed from all her pain
As she was plowed right through by a quickly passing train
Neal Cassady
February 8 ,1926  -  February 4 , 1968
San Miguel D'Alene , Mexico

Dead from extreme exposure
Four days short of forty-two

Only fitting , next to a railroad track
He had many words to haul back

The wolf sleeps next to the silver rail
Howling at a silver moon that fell

I see here he drove a ******* Cadillac
Through the San Francisco streets

With the top down
Smiling free , it was meant to be

Life is a quasar
"Americans should know the universe itself as a road , as many roads , as roads for traveling souls." Walt Whitman .
Tuesday Pixie Nov 2014
Hurry now, it’s leaving soon
Car door slams, gravel underfoot
And from the boot
Grandmas lil helper is lifted
Oh! Where did it go?
Wind twists scarf to snake
Released from frames captivity
I stoop and tug
Under your foot, Gran
She shuffles,
Ties it firmly around tiny shoulders
Bright colour against delicate skin
Paper thin, both,
One for beauty, one to hold the blood in
And may it hold the blood in,
Just a little longer...

The train awaits,
Monstrous,
Steele stark against surrounding bush.
Matt has a sausage,
Mum bothers about tickets,
Both fuss and fizzle,
I press lips firmly together
Deciding then and there
Never to let entertainment turn to stress;
It’s more than it’s worth.

We’re to be in the engine room,
The rest will be left behind -
As something faulty.
Matt lifts Gran up;
She’s tiny,
She’s flying,
She’s in.
And then we’re all in.
Crammed.
We stare longingly through grimy glass
At empty carriages
Can’t we be in there? It’s all a bit stuffy.

There’s a fire along the track
But we don’t go any further.
The smoke streams out over forest.
And jerking and bumping,
Dipping along,
We reverse back to whence we started.
Petrol fumes and smoke fill our tiny cocoon
Here, let me help you*
Passenger to passenger,
Fellow human,
Compassionate eyes.
Gran has a seat;
She sways while we lurch.

Deep within
Railroad country
I make believe
I know something
Of the girl
Of the Plannies;
That sacred connection
To land and sky,
To Native country,
To Golden Macrocarpa

I stare over hills of tree ferns,
Kawakawa, Wheki, Punga
And, knowing no other,
I feel this land
Majestically
My own.
"The girl of the Plannies" is Janet Frame, New Zealand author and poet, and a huge inspiration to me. Her autobiography taught me so much and made me truly realise my connection to New Zealand.
Laura Kitching Jun 2014
From boxcars to cable cars
Those blues licks roll off the fingertips
Of mad men
Fighting with their last chance
For their last chance
Looking up at the skies
And crying out
For one last dance with the devil

— The End —