| The Train with No Name |
The Train With No Name
battle grey cloud misshapes
amidst an evening Mackerel sky
speeding tree silhouettes lean away
from my little window view
clack, clack, rattle, whoosh
whistle the late afternoon train
from Toronto to Ottawa
in sadness, my journey incomplete
its mission leaving a door closed
brush stroke feather and cloud bubbles
decorate a late August sunset sky
I smile through my emptiness
horses outside a red and silver barn
harvest yellow, marsh green, lupine russet
how fragile the love once cherished
broken stair rails on chipping stoops
old ladies molt in white plastic chairs
tattooed young people decorate cars
with their bodies lean, fertile and ferile
slivers of tangerine hold heavenly clouds
plated layer upon layer defying gravity
Chinese brush strokes close my lids
bringing me into a troubled sleep
clickety clack, clack, clack, clickety clack
I awaken to a timeless kiss gently placed
by one who may have loved me
or one who might love me yet
slowly slumber weighted eyelids
open and for a moment, just a moment
I think I see my lost lover disappear
into a haunting train whistle
I know that other loss, the weekend one,
with little chance left to be found again,
will be remembered for the nameless train
as the day departing without reconciliation
clack, clickety clack, clack, clickety……..
Every train should have a name.
amb©sep/2005
battle grey cloud misshapes
amidst an evening Mackerel sky
speeding tree silhouettes lean away
from my little window view
clack, clack, rattle, whoosh
whistle the late afternoon train
from Toronto to Ottawa
in sadness, my journey incomplete
its mission leaving a door closed
brush stroke feather and cloud bubbles
decorate a late August sunset sky
I smile through my emptiness
horses outside a red and silver barn
harvest yellow, marsh green, lupine russet
how fragile the love once cherished
broken stair rails on chipping stoops
old ladies molt in white plastic chairs
tattooed young people decorate cars
with their bodies lean, fertile and ferile
slivers of tangerine hold heavenly clouds
plated layer upon layer defying gravity
Chinese brush strokes close my lids
bringing me into a troubled sleep
clickety clack, clack, clack, clickety clack
I awaken to a timeless kiss gently placed
by one who may have loved me
or one who might love me yet
slowly slumber weighted eyelids
open and for a moment, just a moment
I think I see my lost lover disappear
into a haunting train whistle
I know that other loss, the weekend one,
with little chance left to be found again,
will be remembered for the nameless train
as the day departing without reconciliation
clack, clickety clack, clack, clickety……..
Every train should have a name.
amb©sep/2005