Ten cent dreams
and a can of ale,
bottle neck refunds,
for the army of salvation.
Snappin your fingers,
to Mavis Staples,
your brown bag
holds the rhythm,
that moves
the clouds
across the moon.
Box car bastards
and banished
bar maidens
born with original sin,
baptize the beginners
with bourbon and cheer.
Jump that train kid.
Sing the songs of the
Union rail,
that spiders
the wild country,
littered with six packs
and empty pockets
of men who move
in quarter time,
to hop the freight
that brings their hearts
forever forward.
Sleep my precious child,
hear the whistle blow,
your daddy's coming home.
Comments
1 - 62 of 62
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Wow... let me start by applauding you on such amazing imagery that is carried through out the entire piece. Your content and flow leave nothing to be desired. The last stanza was simply beautiful and added a much needed positive perspective to the piece. Simply amazing.
xx Sam
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A very interesting write. I was surprised by the last two lines and it made me smile. I used to want to be a train engineer when I was little. We had a friend who did that and I thought it was too cool. Guess I out-grew that idea. LOL Not as many hobos as there used to be. (not yet anyway LOL)
Enjoyed this a lot.
Sharon
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The voice of liberty is written here. When my husband and I were young in our marriage, I asked him what he would have liked to have been outside of who he was and what his chosen profession was... He graciously answered; "a bum who hops trains". You made me smile here. The last lines caught me off guard. An excellent work of movement and continuations. I love trains. Their whistles keep me woke at night, and always spark my muse. Beautiful work here poet.
Much Love & Respect ♥
Renee
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yes =]
Imagery is excellent - personally, it lead me back in history to the underground railroad and the hopes and dreams of tose escaping opression. LOVE the alliteration in theird stanza - very musical. I'm very fond of the last three lines; they're they feeling you get when you drink a refreshing drink when you're feeling parched - the rush and the contentment. Absolutely wonderful. -
I loved it, it is a beautiful write. I have one similar to this, although yours happened to paint a much more vivid picture! Thanks!
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Thank you for 'Taking Me There'
Like Mavis did.
Your poetry has the same soul as the songstress herself, I know she'd be proud to have her name penned into this magnificent write!
The stark truth this piece speaks is just as the lyrics convey "there aint no smiling faces, lying to the races"
I shall be back for more of your genius :-)
Please tell me....as I am a newbie....why does this flow so well, is this a specific form you use (regarding stressed and unstressed syllables?)
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enjoyed the ride
I could hear the click clack of the rail. very well written - especially liked the child sleeping at the end, waiting for daddy to return. nice touch.
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Wow great job I love this
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Enchanted by this
Have always wanted to jump a railroad car and ride it to wherever it was headed...just to do. This paints the mood even more firmly in my mind...
"Box car bastards and banished bar maidens" what flavor and intrigue those words conjure up! Excellent read
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I think that the commas are sometimes not necessary. I really really like this, though; the ending was beautiful. Amazing write.
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I have just started reading thru some of your poems. The story telling is wonderful!
Wow, what a discovery!
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This is very good. I like the bitter freedom in your imagery and the sarcastic street bread sound to the tone of the poem ending with a soft paternal feel. Your flow and vocabulary are excellent and actually kind of entertaining in an odd way. This is a very good composition. Thank you for sharing this experience with us.
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Yep!
Great storytelling... For me really gives me the feel between contemporary times and the Depression era... when men road the rails looking for some kind of hope... in a the bottle... finding nothing but more despair.... However, there's also this sense of freedom.... sense of movement... and real hope at the end... no more moving... homeward bound.
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your brown bag
holds the rhythm,
that moves
the clouds
across the moon...these are wonderful words. and they give a good feeling!
Box car bastards
and banished
bar maidens
born with original sin,
baptize the beginners
with bourbon and cheer....and oh my gosh, this is so very clever and well said!
another delicious write!!!
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Wonderful verse my friend, Love the imagery!
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Oh, Liam
That last 3 lines crushed me!
It was so unexpected..
Your words really left an impact on my heart tonight..
You pierced it deep ...*sighs*
-Mandi
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shades of hobo ghosts
i liked this. you remind me of a 'dream' i have had to ride the rails. a different time, a different life. drink on Charles B.---just take care of the school kids if indeed you do as you say in your homepage.
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I like the run of emotions you've showed here. You've used language and words very EFFECTIVELY to encapsulate the feeling you want to show, almost like the words are not there to be read, but to felt, and to see as images in our own minds.
Until the last stanza, the mood was... of abandonment. Reading it made me feel like I was alone, like I was really in that situation, out in the cold, lost in the fog, liquour for a friend. I could feel the cold biting against my knuckles as I clutched that brown paper bag and just as biting was the atmosphere of the tension around me, "Box car bastards
and banished
bar maidens
born with original sin," very hard-hitting lines.
And then, as the piece draws to a close, you suddenly feel a lot warmer inside.
"Sleep my precious child,
hear the whistle blow,
your daddy's coming home."
it's like recovering from the aftershock, you're suddenly wrapped up after being exposed. The last three lines are comforting and full of another meaning entirely perhaps, than what they simply say, however ''hear the whistle blow'' is symbolic of the individual interpretation (I wouldn't want to let the air out by knowing exactly what that symbol represents, for it could be a number of things) and it also sounds quite ghostly, or haunting, letting us know that nothing... has really changed, not quite yet, but you can't tell... and this is what leaves the reader thinking.
Well done Liam. Another great masterpiece.
Love and praises,
Jess
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This is superb!
My fav part -
'Sing the songs of the
Union rail,
that spiders
the wild country,
littered with six packs
and empty pockets'
Your writing reminds me of Shawn Mullins' lyrics, and I can pay you no higher compliment than that! -
Reads like something our teacher would make us analyze in class ur way with words is brilliant great write
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once again...i'm astounded by your words...
"Box car bastards
and banished
bar maidens
born with original sin,
baptize the beginners
with bourbon and cheer.
Jump that train kid."
This part makes me think of my own childhood and upbringing...thanks again for your wonderful way with words...
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Sleep my precious child,
hear the whistle blow,
your daddy's coming home.
Brings a tear to my eyes....
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Pure joy, poet, pure joy.
Love this,
"your brown bag
holds the rhythm,
that moves
the clouds
across the moon."
Tasty little piece of you! Great write!
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I especially like the last part... "sleep my precious child..." I really like how it embodies almost an old West feel, along with thoughts of the Great Depression and hoboes. Great job once again.
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"littered with six packs
and empty pockets
of men who move
in quarter time,
to hop the freight
that brings their hearts
forever forward."
I love these lines
You have such a wonderful rhythm in this piece
I like it a lot man
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It has a very nice flow.
What's with all the Bs in the third stanza?
"Forever forward" should be re-phrased. -
this poem express many things. lovely piece
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Fantastic write from the Irish "hobo" of my heart...Mavis Staples...Great...Fantastic reference. I loved this piece...roaming roving never stopping...~Gypsy~
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This has a nice flow. I love the part "Box car bastards
and banished bar maidens".
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Mavis Staples, what a deep reference. Though I no longer roam the roads, I wonder if I will ever find home. Close to a tear, maybe later.....
Peace,
Michael
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Good
Lowell
This is well observed. It has the ring of truth of someone who is in the know. I think the alliteration in the third stanza is the engine of the poem.
The stanza that starts "Sing the songs.." has a nursery rhyme flavour something like 'This is the House that Jack built' or the 'Old Woman who swallowed a fly' and links the general hard knocks of life of the poem with the sleeping child.
Dooney
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Lovely !!!
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I like the jazzy feel to this piece. I heard the trains whistling from my bedroom windows for years. As a kid my siblings and I always hopped the trains to get from on end of the levee to the next. Of course we were too young to know there was danger there. This piece reminds me of the freedom we felt at that age. I really enjoyed the read.
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A hobo's lullaby in three quarter time. Good write neighbor and happy trails.
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you always suck me into reading your work again
and again for that matter,
although-
it is always a pleasure. -
Delighftul, I like the way you describe and the final stanza brings the poem to close...great job. You should be proud of this!
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lovely!!!
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Oh yes, you were right about me, I loved this write. How fun your word play was. The alliteration is a little mind boggling, but not so much that it overwhelms.
Love the last line Liam.
Love.
Always,
jin
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The alliteration in the third stanza was very interesting, over all I thought this was a very good peice. Thank you so much for sharing!!!
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i agree with the comments below. you have penned a great piece. thank you for sharing this with me today and i am hoping to read more from you in the very near future. viyanna rosemarie
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so many great lines that keep you to the end,
your words never fail to plesure.
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Lowell, my friend, you've penned another masterpiece! Fantastic imagery throughout. This piece had me running to catch that train to home. Well done.
Rory
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so imaginitive! a most humoreous piece full of incredible imagery and great design! awesome work hon
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I'm reminded of the sounds of a whistle blowing from the trains of my own childhood. I suppose every boy had dreams of jumping a freight at times. The few that did are rare individuals, but I do recall seeing them in box cars as they slowly rode by the cornfield behind the house. I don't know if that was your intention, but you sure sparked a fond memory for me. Thanks Lowell
Blessings my friend,
Ron
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I did add appluase but it is telling me i havent.
Bravo! -
Sorry I was that absorbed in your writing that I forgot to add an applause haha!
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gud gud gud.
i detect elements of romance, dreams,(fulfilled or otherwise) and of course your trademark hard realism.
Totally excellent Liam. -
Good
You poem uses unusual and imaginative subject matter to make a statement and is clever in its use. Your words of superb imagery gently take the reader to a private place in your heart and we feel welcome.
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Nicely done. The word choice provides great imagery. Great job on this one. I enjoyed it.
Mike
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Bound for Glory...!
pass that paper bag kiddo
'n watch the hills go floating by
lost in a wash of memories
of sad sally anne dormitories
and train whistles
may they echo forever
in your vagabond soul my friend
Long may you run Liam
loved every line...
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wow. i love this piece. it's amazing.
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This is a funny and awesome poem! :$)
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Liam
Great imagination...hi-ballin' for home. As a kid we'd go down to the tracks and put a peny on a rail waiting for it to get mashed as the train went by. I still remember the doppler sound of to and from.
As an open freight car few by we'd throw rocks at the box car bastards sitting inside. Fun to read dear Irish. -c
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I don't know why... but this made me think of Hobos... that's not a bad thing... I think it was all the alcohol and train references. I love the imagery this throws out, and I love your choice of words to form this imagery. To me there was an upbeat rhythmic flow that was at the same time a subdued undertone that almost had a mocking quality. Maybe it was just the way I read it, but that's the feeling I got. This is a great piece. I'm glad it was the first I read by you... I will definately read more now
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Wow tin pan alley jazz in the raw ..love the wonderful street music feel of this very imagic write dear poet
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now that was really cool, oh the lust of wander. but there is nothing like coming home. very good and inspiring write. thanks.
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I especially like the last three lines... I used to fall asleep to the train whistle blowing. I quite enjoyed this.
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This reminds me of a guy who liked to ride freight trains for the fun of it, even though he had to watch getting his head busted. But he saw alot of places and had big fun,enjoyed
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Great Job! loved it!
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And come HOME he will...
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i hate to do it.. but .. WOW!
yeah, I could relate to this one and then some. You truly captured the marrow of the rambling bone. Kudos L.P. Your quill, and I would assume presence, posses that gypsy spirit.
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What a great feel to this. I can almost hear the whistle of the locomotive in the distance. What a tender final stanza
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