Quotes about rail, page 4
Anecdote of a coin
I placed a coin
upon a railway track
while training at Klipdrift army camp
to go to war.
The coin was flattened
and stretched two centimetres long
and pressed upon
the image of the track.
More trains passed day and night
and the coin remained
as part of that rail.
It never would transform back
to a round and shiny thing
and have the capacity
to buy anything.
I was transformed from boy
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poem by Gert Strydom
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The Brighton Poem - Work In Progress
I live a prophecy
As homage to Mann
And Bogarde's smug smile
Same draped
The white shirt
The yellow tie
The sea blue
The white paper
Coloured pencil
Uncovered definition
Sea striped some light some dark
Sky stripes of cloud muddle perception
No Tadzio just man and sea
No Tadzio just sea and me
I lean on the green rail
My tailored jacket on my arm
Unsure of that water or land
The world stretched of free perplexity
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poem by Michael Oliver
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The Overland Mail
(Foot-Service to the Hills)
In the name of the Empress of India, make way,
O Lords of the Jungle, wherever you roam.
The woods are astir at the close of the day --
We exiles are waiting for letters from Home.
Let the robber retreat -- let the tiger turn tail --
In the Name of the Empress, the Overland Mail!
With a jingle of bells as the dusk gathers in,
He turns to the foot-path that heads up the hill --
The bags on his back and a cloth round his chin,
And, tucked in his waist-belt, the Post Office bill:
"Despatched on this date, as received by the rail,
Per runner, two bags of the Overland Mail."
Is the torrent in spate? He must ford it or swim.
Has the rain wrecked the road? He must climb by the cliff.
Does the tempest cry "Halt"? What are tempests to him?
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poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Mulberry Tree
It's many's the scenes which is dear to my mind
As I think of my childhood so long left behind;
The home of my birth, with it's old puncheon-floor,
And the bright morning-glories that growed round the door;
The warped clab-board roof whare the rain it run off
Into streams of sweet dreams as I laid in the loft,
Countin' all of the joys that was dearest to me,
And a-thinkin' the most of the mulberry tree.
And to-day as I dream, with both eyes wide-awake,
I can see the old tree, and its limbs as they shake,
And the long purple berries that rained on the ground
Whare the pastur' was bald whare we trommpt it around.
And again, peekin' up through the thick leafy shade,
I can see the glad smiles of the friends when I strayed
With my little bare feet from my own mother's knee
To foller them off to the mulberry tree.
Leanin' up in the forks, I can see the old rail,
And the boy climbin' up it, claw, tooth, and toe-nail,
[...] Read more
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Another Cheap Rhyme
I met her on a rail replacement bus
a funny way to start
She said something funny
I said something smart
The seats weren't very comfy
infact they were rather hard
but she smiled at me warmly
and gave me her business card
And so I met her once more
this time on the train
she wasn't like the others
boring, busy and plain
We both got off at Croydon
I asked which way she'd go
She said 'my place, you wanna? '
How could I say no?
[...] Read more
poem by R.S. Evans
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Early Morning bar room,1919
English pub by hienbau_photos
Early Morning Bar room,1919
I stared, stupidly, at his head
and the pool of red he bled
from the brass rail down onto
the barroom floor.
Had it been a half an hour
He, so cocksure of his power,
had first set foot
inside the barroom door?
I'd been alone but for the Doc
a Presbyterian Scott
who just come from
a hard delivery.
Mom and child were doing well
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Winter In Canada
Nay tell me not that, with shivering fear,
You shrink from the thought of wintering here;
That the cold intense of our winter-time
Is severe as that of Siberian clime,
And, if wishes could waft you across the sea,
You, to-night, in your English home would be.
Remember, no hedges there now are bright
With verdure, or blossoms of hawthorn white;
In damp, sodden fields or bare garden beds
No daisies or cowslips show their heads;
Whilst chill winds and skies of gloomy hue
Tell in England, as elsewhere, ’tis winter too.
Away with dull thoughts! Raise your brooding eyes
To yonder unclouded azure skies;
Look round on the earth, robed in bridal white,
All glittering and flashing with diamonds bright,
While o’er head, her lover and lord, the sun,
Shines brightly as e’er in summer he’s done.
[...] Read more
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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Still Invoking the Protector of Angels
With your newspaper folded
And set aside,
It was your last night of reading
And trying to live your life as normal.
Later that night,
You would fall twice to the floor
Trying to make it to a bedside commode,
And I knew you wouldn't leave your bed again.
After that, you lived a few more days
Uncomfortably in your bed,
Eating and drinking very little,
Gazing upward and to the wall,
Most certainly seeing angels.
On your last full day on earth,
A nurse-aide came to the house
To give you a bedside bath and it was like the lady
Who anointed Jesus with perfume for his burial;
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poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Walking through time
This morning I went on my daily stroll.
Only this time it was quite different:
I permitted my mind to take control
How much I knew not or to what extent.
It took me on a tour of memories.
I see a boy walking in this same place.
He hears a call, “Al...bee! ” The reverie
Had roused in him his mother’s lovely face.
He knew the purpose of her tireless call
It was almost noontime, its time to eat.
He arrived home late that day I recall
And consequently took a little heat.
She said, “Albee, it’s rude to be tardy
‘I’m Sorry’ does not ease severity.”
Just as I was about to get a smack
My mind propelled me into the future
Same boy, a bit older. As I think back
I was always getting slapped, that I’m sure.
I couldn’t understand, I'd done no wrong.
If angels roamed earth, you’re looking at one.
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poem by Albert Ahearn
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The Three-Decker
"~The three-volume novel is extinct.~"
Full thirty foot she towered from waterline to rail.
It cost a watch to steer her, and a week to shorten sail;
But, spite all modern notions, I found her first and best --
The only certain packet for the Islands of the Blest.
Fair held the breeze behind us -- 'twas warm with lovers' prayers.
We'd stolen wills for ballast and a crew of missing heirs.
They shipped as Able Bastards till the Wicked Nurse confessed,
And they worked the old three-decker to the Islands of the Blest.
By ways no gaze could follow, a course unspoiled of Cook,
Per Fancy, fleetest in man, our titled berths we took
With maids of matchless beauty and parentage unguessed,
And a Church of England parson for the Islands of the Blest.
We asked no social questions -- we pumped no hidden shame --
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poem by Rudyard Kipling
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