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Lucas K Aug 2021
Away, far away, and further still.
Beyond rumble and tremble and thrill,
where spies out of shadows hold no sway,
there lies a chamber of stone, with no bars, nor locks or divides.
Every evening,
my weary eyes rest upon the memory of time and its ever shifting, ever stalwart tides.
That is where my heart abides.

My heart resides just below the rusty rail.
Over a watchful window, a silky veil of green sunlight falls like a curtain of fleeting dreams and a blooming hazel tree beneath the frail mist conceals a passageway to emerald fields.
Each morning,
I am drawn nearer and nearer to you, for that is how my mind endures.
That is why my heart never yields.
Nick lupin Dec 2020
The night sky enveloped our surroundings

Eating away the outside world

With a clang of metal

And a chug of smoke

We’re sent onto a new path

A new future

Full of what?

We’re not quite sure.

For just like the distant trees that get swooped up into the darkened night

Our home before and the knowledge of what’s to come get swooped up along with it

The unknown lurks

It’s precedence looming above us

Whether it be misfortune or something grander,

it’s impossible to tell

But the option for something better

Even just a little

Well it’s worth the wild ride

Looking out the window

I see those I left behind

home, Family, friends, prized possessions

All gone, lost in the darkened night

But in the end

while the unknown can be an incredible cruel mistress

she can also oh so very kind

And her taste of hope of something grander,

Well there’s simply nothing more divine
Chris Slade Nov 2020
A Down the Railway Rhyme!

I walked the line
to where the steel once ran.
I walked the time line…
Where the rail gap clatter
gave way to wild bird chatter.
Where commuter crush
became deer grazing in a siding’s hush…

Wild flowers, weeds & shrubs
flourish where the occasional sleepers lay
and the odd rail cleat on the track bed ,
remind us where the rails once led,
till those who govern these things said…
Too expensive!…No more the train.
Let the trucks & roads take the strain.

Today… Nature’s Food Chain
replaces yesterday’s Freight Train
Wolf’s Bain and Wart’s Ease
instead of strap hanger’s
carriage squeeze…
meant kids would sit on their mother’s knees

Today there’s a diving Sparrow Hawk
where once 3rd Class picked up on small talk
and 1st was treated to business ‘squawk’.
The river & passing pastures have seen it all;
rail trade that kept a town alive
gives way to help the wildlife thrive.
John Betjeman meets Pam Ayers and I doubt either would have been very happy... But I don't hear anyone complaining!
K E Cummins Jul 2020
I want to go exploring in the deep green woods
Where the leaves shuffle past on your feet, on your toes
Where the yellow streetlights and the red ones fade
Deer graze in the cracks at Kensington Station
Birds nest between the wheels of the dead railway

I want your lips against mine in the silence
In these hollow spaces, the reclaimed world
Bark peeling, sprouts, on the wood house beams
Colour of rust and liveliness, womb of ours, heart of ours
Greenboro metal on the slatted tracks
Wrote this on the train - when read out loud it should have a train-track rhythm to it.
Dhruv Dec 2019
A boy stares. His eyes,
wide with hunger.
His face streaked ageless,
with coal-tar dust
that has seeped
into his black skin.
As if his epidermis
was also scavenged
from the loading yards.

He stares across,
the rain drenched platform.
At people who arrive,
knowing that they can leave.
He looks at
unfolding umbrellas
reveal laden bodies.
At their luggage.
For signs of wealth,
for coins that may spill
like coal that drops
from the jostling of
overfed carriages.

He looks at bags on wheels
miniature carts,
like crude toys of yesterday
at people at play,
who leave behind
those that must yet carry
old bags like mules.
Where the weight
of each possession is
acutely felt
on the shoulders.

And he knows, as he looks
that the people at play
their belongings light
upon their writs are
those with coin
to spare.

But he holds
his hands out
to the others,
to the slow
plodding mule people.
Because his malnourished legs
(and this he knows too),
cannot keep up
with suitcases on wheels
long enough
to beg for a future.
Vincent May 2015
The men, mostly wrapped in grey,
With knitted necks have nothing to say.
But sway out of the way of the others, passing.

Over there, on six, a man is checking
No one is asking, but he’s still looking.
His finger’s pointing.

Beside me, a beautiful lady, is waiting
Speaking softly to her lover:
“Not long now” – she whispers’, lower.

With late night morning upon our faces
We wonder why, we are here at all
Collecting colds, old age, and wages:
Before middle, old, and then the fall.

And then the sun appears:
It lights the seats where no one sits
I feel my heart beat miss a bit.
I see myself years ago.
Waiting for a train to go.
To take our family away, for free
For fish, chips, salt and sea.

All of us all, sitting there:
Our fathers 1950’s hair,
Our sixties mother thin lipped stare,
my sisters, bothers, and me, just sat there.

Frozen cold, with tears sticking in my eyes.
And for a moment I want back that time.
To start again, at another me:
No more trains - but more sea.
Imagine your life as a train –
Endless road and no more unbearable pain.
Now you are passenger, put troubles behind,
That actually twist your brilliant mind.

Landscape by landscape, sunset by sunset,
“Freedom is here!” you cheerfully said.
Others might think you must be insane
“How dare he exist unlike a last soul in the rain?”

Stay focused and do not be absorbed
By spoiled people whose troubles were not even solved.
Take reality easy, follow these words,
Now they are would be my final chords.
A poem about one person that faced reality and finally gained the freedom.
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