Adobe wind enchants with time
in forgotten traces
of inspiration's muse,
for such a silent memory
of misplaced mortar
taking future reservations
when track might lead
to tell a story,
is ghost to raise
and offer nothing.
As I pass this place
of life left over,
I wonder if I missed the mark,
of if a magic ticket,
held,
in yet believing hand,
might bare a track
to guide a moving mystery,
northward,
where my mountains
lay in wait to know her skin,
in wish extended
as kiss to crave,
when an iron horse
might pull my life
to stop in cars of family,
lost,
within a strange,
deceived dimension.
And as this group
of Love's arrival,
imagined as deer
in Juniper grazing
for gift of breakfast
safe from highway,
disembarks from train in waves of hands
to greet arrival, so amazed,
the last to leave in graceful step,
and flashing eyes I've always known
in delicate moves to whisper soul song,
sighs in tongues of words once promised,
to echo name
and cross my canyon
in gathered hope
from such a desert
of poetry given up for survival,
and stirs my dust cloud
coming home
to drown the station
in Yesterday's delusion.
A contest entry
- Last Train to Clarkdale by hoodoolover.
600 points, ended February 21, 2007, 12 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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I was wondering if you recognize this building, too. Congratulations on your winning write, Kaibab.
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Beautiful and soft with a bittersweet tinge, well done and thanks for entering!
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SIgh~
This one leaves me in awe and speechless....
Brilliant...amazing and quite the magical write!
You always bring a sigh~
Lynda
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"the last to leave in graceful step,
and flashing eyes I've always known
in delicate moves to whisper soul song,
sighs in tongues of words once promised"
"I'll meet you at the station"...Gorgeous penning, dear Scribe...I, too, have always had a fascination with trains...the older ones, as well as the newer ones...Don & I had planned to take the Silver Bullet through Colorado in the Autumn, to watch Nature's beauty unfold in front of our grateful eyes...Perhaps one day, I'll go by myself anyway...A grand penning of past promises & future hopes, my dear Friend...Good luck in the contest, Sweetie...
Wanda
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Adobe dreams, dust to dust, or dusk to dusk delusions ?...the aspirations of yesterday? I much prefer believing hands now to bare a track of hope and mystery, to trace the grace of touch in a much more tangible blueprint of poetry and hello despite the stations of life that are not always home. I'm always caught in your trust of words, a "gift of breakfast safe from highway."
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"As I pass this place
of life left over,
I wonder if I missed the mark"
Thinking of trains and tracks, I think those words above are what we're all thinking about. I know Neruda wrote about stations of farewells. I love trains, especially the old steam ones - they always seem to pull some melancholy from the soul... A wonderful piece of metaphorical writing... it is hard to think of you not having inspiration enough... I think they arrive by the carload in your station - like in this poem. As always you find the "magic ticket" to magical poetry...
~ Nicolette
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