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Paul Butters Apr 19
Wispy wheat fields wave in the wind
As the train chugs through
Along the track of Life that circles
To bring you back where you began.

They say The Journey is the thing:
Meandering through river cut valleys
Between towering mountains.
Rivers running down to endless ocean
That drowns our globe
We call the Earth.

Kids wave from the windows of that train
A custom of love for fellow humankind.
All aboard are full of hopes and dreams
And fears
Anticipating all manner of things
At their destination for the day.

Many have gone to the seaside this way,
While others have travelled for work
Or even a new life.
Our ancients may have been nomads
And modern folk too must sometimes journey.
There’s no place like home,
But first you have to get there.
Go safely everyone.

Paul Butters

© PB 19\4\2024.
Circular Line
else Mar 24
saturday noon, we sit on solitary metal plates,
i see tomorrow’s windows through your wise old eyes
overlooking grey skies, the monotonicity of life,
“everyone wakes up, works, and sleeps at the same time..."

your voice trails off as the train taking our rest arrives.
no matter how many times
i've crossed these tracks
nor how old i might now be
i will still feel
that childlike excitement
building within
as i look cautiously
left then right and
left then right again
just to be sure
before stepping across
that first metallic line
a symbol of both
danger and adventure
rechecking the signals
as i cross the second
i have never understood
what those lights tell
of the next train's progress
red yellow green
single or double
flashing or constant
no matter how clear
the tracks appear
the uncertainty of
what might soon be
unstoppably approaching
always sets me on edge
momentarily apprehensive
yet exhilarated by
each rushed step
Heidi Franke Mar 15
This wasn't the train. It scooped you up to a different destination. Birds of splendor followed along
Out the window
Winding in your path of grief. Be ready for the station waiting
To greet your sorrow.

The platform is not clear. The mist hides the light then becomes a flow of water you can reach and touch. Become aware of the grief but don't move towards it. See it instead in the palm of your hand. Dip into the water cupped in your hands to cleanse your sorrow.

You will have times of freedom. Embrace all feelings. Let them fall into the stream of water. You will lighten. You will see more color as the mist dissappears.

You will see the light between the leaves of the trees. The sounds of song birds lifting you up with messages for you alone.
Gabrielle Mar 13
I got on the go-away train
The same one I wished on while you were gone

My bags all packed for the plane
One last hope left in the side pocket

A hope you might not let me go
Squished between my toothbrush and t-shirts

But we both listened to the whistle blow
And you watched the go-away train take me

How could you let there be oceans between us?
When I can barely stand a centimetre

Why, when you just sit there motionless,
Do I have to crawl the earth to keep up with you?
Hunter Dec 2023
In the silence of the night, footsteps echo,
A man walks a solitary path, a journey untold.
Shadows lengthen, as the city holds its breath,
An unspoken weight in the rhythm of his steps.

The neon glow of urban life flickers,
Illuminating a face weathered by the weight of shadows.
Eyes, once reflecting the universe's wonders,
Now mirror a desolate cosmos, devoid of stars.

He moves with purpose, a specter in the urban sprawl,
Echoes of despair resonate with each step.
Train tracks, a silver ribbon of destiny, await,
A final destination etched in the cold steel.

The night air, pregnant with unspoken farewells,
Breathes life into the silhouette of his solitude.
A decision crystallized in the stillness,
As he approaches the threshold between worlds.

The distant wail of a train, an approaching requiem,
Steel wheels on rails, an ominous hymn of finality.
The man, standing at the edge of oblivion,
A silhouette against the impending locomotive's glow.

In the interplay of shadows and artificial light,
A soul grapples with the void,
unseen and unheard.
The city sleeps, unaware of the silent elegy,
As the man surrenders to the oncoming tide.

In the final breath before impact, a fleeting tableau,
A life extinguished in the collision of despair and steel.
Train tracks, witnesses to a story's tragic terminus,
As the city awakens to a dawn without one soul.
kha Sep 2023
it would've been a month of voice messages,
delusions, and silly advances.
but on the 26th day,
i'm still on the way.

every time i pass by any train,
or the skies prevent to pour the rain,
26 days of crippling pain,
now numb, hopeless,
yet still a crackbrain.

no one seems to fill the void you left
but they elude me from that silent altercation
you were probably the best choice
even on the 26th day of separation

have you forgotten that fast,
or probably i didn't linger enough?
i should've pressed my nails deeper onto your arms
i should've kissed you against the alarm

maybe if the train ride lasted longer,
maybe if the sunset wasn't purple,
maybe if we didn't dream the ugly denouements,
maybe there would be a 33rd day.
AP Vrdoljak Sep 2023
Is a poem not just a song
with rhyming verse
that’s not yet sung?

With repeated chorus
not yet stuck
inside one’s head,
amongst the muck?

Is a poem not just a song?
A daisy chain of verse
not yet strum

around a fire
among some friends
deep in the woods
on away weekends.

Is a poem not just a song
not yet proclaimed
by a choir’s tongue?

But uttered silently
in a bed-lamp’s light
at early hours
of the night.

Is a poem not just a song
that peacefully rests
in black ink upon

a white page
inside a book,
upon a library shelf
until it’s took?

Is a poem not just a song
quietly set to lips
that read along

on a train,
on the way back home
from visiting gran
for tea and a scone?

Is a poem not just a song
unset to keys
and not yet begun?

Not yet major,
and not yet minor.
Just metered in beats
and little other.

Is a poem not just a song?
I suppose it could be
but not this one.
Psych-o-rangE Aug 2023
1 I attended with my new suit
1 I barely made it to and back
1 I watched from a screen
1 I missed the train
1 I've been preparing for

2018-2023, 5 years.

I'm 25 years old
My dads getting old too
My mom I had to convince to come
Eyes of familiar faces to watch me stand or stumble
I just want you all to know, no matter what, I love you

A son, step-son, brother, half-brother, nephew, grandson, grand nephew, boyfriend, partner in this same suit
You made me who I am

Farmor, especially you.
Farmor means father's mother/grandmother in Swedish
Carlo C Gomez Apr 2023
Today, my train of thought
Is a bit off track.
It's a dark and confusing smokestack.
You see, questions abound.
So buckle in as I go to town.

Which cider you on?
Apple or hard?
If a tree falls on a copier
And no one is around to see it,
Does it make a forest?
I'm rooting for yes; but quite unsure.

How many coins can a fountain hold?
I wish I knew.
Is Paul dead or the walrus?
Is Paul dead AND the walrus?
Coo coo ca choo.

What's the beef about red meat?
It fills but kills? It sells but fells?
Who knows!
The proof is in the pudding.
All other desserts are unsubstantiated,
I suppose.

If peanut butter leaves Los Angeles
Traveling east at 100 miles per hour,
And jelly leaves New York
Traveling west twice as fast,
Will they become a sandwich when they meet?
What a treat if they did.

Maybe one day these
Universal questions will be solved.
But for now, I'm quite dizzy
From all the lunacy involved.

Catch you later...
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