On a Thursday night,
lunging over a terrain of rocks like pistons
{a live wooden set,}
we stopped at this train station,
picking up conversation speed
the day after watching Tiny Town videos...
These railroad ties of flagstone
didn't even sketch an acre by the best artists
of skid loaders,
yet Oklahoma still isn't vibrated
by your song,
five miles an hour to savor
Go where you've got to go,
and as we turn on the edge
of a mountain,
I fielded my eyes
never packed in on a cargo with us
towards Texas's wobbly veneer,
and I see someone in Colorado
sweeping the dirty trail with his feet
so our prints would show
Deep in the canyons,
I saw an old book of poetry
mineralized into rock over years,
and put a yellow bookmark
in-between the pockets of White Buff
with ripples
like a river under the cliff
especially from airplanes
Twisting, we type a code
in the roundhouse of night,
blackening the steam to the end
as movies' fade-outs
And, the mid-day sun like a boulder
fell straight on a shadow,
rolling down the hill of my face
and my eyes are crushed to sleep
that guy, Daddy, brushed bumpy gravel
minutes ago,
placing my altitude of feelings there
to coast down to tomorrow...
In a list
A contest entry
- Time to Go by Tercil.
500 points, ended November 4, 2008, 11 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
give your kind critiques, and i'll more easily try my best!
Comments
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Oops
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Some wonderful word painting. The stanza with the canyons is lush and delicious. I can see Dean Moriarty as the pioneering brake man feeding the dharma bum. This is vast and sweeping- an epic wrapped in allegory. The eyes being crushed to sleep reminds me of Tom Waits; and Steve Earle is there and together they delight in the hooting of the whistle and the rhythm of the train.
I enjoyed this poem very much though in places the language impedes the flow. -
the word code, and daddy have much in this reminded me of things, wow, I have memories too, how did you know, ???
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