A Passing Thought
The train
Moved,
And
In no time
We
Were out
In the countryside.
Pink clouds
Dotted the evening sky.
Far out,
Paddy fields.
Smoke
Billowing out
Of the chimneys.
Dim lights
In the cottages
Of sparsely populated
Villages.
Soon its
Twilight,
All is quiet.
Just a few miles
Away from the city,
Which comes to life
At night,
With
Nocturnal activities.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Lights in the night
The sun fades in its red glare
over the mountain top
and traffic lights, street lights
and electrical signs
get an own life
that appears
like flowers folding open to the night.
The city lies dotted out
with thousands of lights
like a big jewel,
that a master artist
unfolds against the dark night.
Cars, busses and motorbikes
draw white and red stripes
like they drive past
crossing and going straight
while the evening
is getting life.
The evening air is beautifully open
and away from the inner city
there are big stars
that hangs sparkling against the heaven
and the Seven Sisters, Orion
and the Southern Cross
are the first to catch my eye
and I wonder how transom
our tinned stars
look out of the universe
and how trivial our lives are
when we look at the great works
of an Almighty God.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The 6.15 from Paddington - Steam Days
The 6.15 from Paddinton goes chugging down the track,
The Guard blows on his whistle, and the engine whistles back.
The carriages are following, swaying as they go,
The passengers are also swaying to and fro.
Through Maidenhead, Reading and Newbury in Berks,
The monster travels onwards, with steam, grey smoke and sparks.
Past Swindon down in Wiltshire and then Chipping Sodbury,
Through tunnels, over bridges, always in a 'big' hurry.
The countryside goes whooshing by, as we travel on,
With fields, lanes and cottages, one moment seen, then gone.
Villages, farms and valleys, tree clad hills and downs,
Flashing past the windows, with 'swishy swooshy' sounds.
It now approaches Bristol, the driver applies the brakes,
With screeching and with creaking, what a hullabaloo it makes.
It's reached it's destination where the Porter and the Clerk,
Will check on all the passengers, before they disembark.
The loud station announcer declares she's the next train out,
The fireman stokes the boiler, and the green flag's waved about.
The train is off and whistles, as it thunders out of view,
The trails of smoke are lifting and the sun is breaking through.
The 6.15 from Paddington is now on her way to Wales,
To Cardiff and to Swansea, for the shops and summer sales.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Not a living thing was to be seen and the cottages that sat huddled close to the ground remained fast shut; the smoke from the chimneys alone still gave a sign of life.
quote by Stijn Streuvels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paniolo Country
Places I have been,
cities I have seen,
with concrete caverns rising from the ground.
Miles and miles of asphalt trail,
stretch across a land,
stampeding meadow ponies leaving smoke along the way...
I'm going back to paniolo county,
stars at night
no city lights.
Paniolo country, my home on the range.
I made up my mind, won't waste any time
I'm going back to where the clouds ride high.
take my word its pretty, not like the great big city
the winds still bring cool clear mountian air.
I'm going back to paniolo country
rain drops fall, the grass grows tall
paniolo county, my home on the range.
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heart Of The Flower
Now at the station, the train to another land
Lands of never seen light, light hidden in infinite night
Night in its biggest might, might of the strongest power
And there the smoke of the train to the heart of the flower
I take the first train to the heart of the flower
I take the first train to the heart of the flower
And there the smoke of the train to the heart of the flower
And there the smoke of the train to the heart of the flower
The waiting room of kingdom come, I look back upon my life
Life of loss but now the end
End of rat race overdrive
Overdrive to foreign lands
Lands of contemptous hours
And there the smoke of the train to the heart of the flower
Now on the train
This is the end of my day
I feel my spirits escape like a musical clock thats dying away
I turn once again and wave my hand and say goodbye
I never thought its so easy
I never thought its so easy
I take the first train to the heart of the flower
I take the first train to the heart of the flower
And there the smoke of the train to the heart of the flower
And there the smoke of the train to the heart of the flower
The heart of the flower
The heart of the flower
The heart of the flower
Diamond/1990
song performed by by Alphaville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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City Man You'd Best Go Back To Town
City man you'd best go back to town
If living in the country gets you down
And though the songbirds sing with voices sweet
You'd much prefer the noisy city street.
These rural towns are quiet as quiet can be
There's so little to do and less to see
Save go into a pub and drink your fill
And come out feeling much more lonely still.
Pleasant is the music of the thrushes
And fragrant is the scent of flowering bushes
Here the air is pure and free of taint
But you would rather live midst smoke and paint.
City man you miss your city kin
You've little in common with rural men,
You've little love for peaceful country life,
You'd much prefer to live where noise is rife.
You are like a fisherman ashore
He find inland life is quite a bore
Unhappy the poor fisherman will be
Until he returns to his beloved sea.
City man the city's calling you
Go bid the lonely countryside adieu,
Your urge for city living's always strong
It is where a man is raised that he belong.
City man go back to your own kind
And leave this sense of loneliness behind
Country life it isn't to your taste
Go back home to the city in a haste.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Sixty Hours
Smoke, blasts, billowing clouds
Billowing curtains from carved windows
The railway station now also has it's widows.
The city, in a daze, unable to grasp
Daily life has stopped; now suddenly
Mumbai, in a stupor tries to awake from
This nightmare without an end.
One dawn, many down.
Second dawn, many down
Third dawn, day has come
What will this city become?
Sixty hours of tears, fears and passion
Sixty hours of waiting, hoping for compassion
The rat-tat-tat carries on, carries on
The loved ones have go on to become
Victims, heroes, or statistics
When the day is finally,
Finally and irrevoccably done.
Cry, city, cry
Shed your lonely tears on the beach
Sixty hours, and your loved ones
Are far beyond your reach.
In this dying we are all one
In tragedy we are all one.
Now our day is, with sad finality done.
Copyright: Rani Turton
26,27,28 November 2008
Dedicated in hommage to the victims and those who who gave their lives to protect the city.
poem by Rani Turton
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Train Of Gold
I saw her there from across the street, she was dressed in black
And when she moved she moved to a beat, like a cadillac
She rode a train, train train train, a train of gold
She was a woman of suspicious ways, never saw daylight
And in her room she sat and passed the days
And shed creep out at night
She rode a train, train train train, a train of gold
Chorus: train of gold, train of gold
It took me so long to find out I was wrong
Now I wait for her in the night
Looked through a window saw a velvet sky, a shade of green
A violin was playing soft and sweet, like it was a dream
She rode a train, train train train, a train of gold
Train of gold, train of gold
It took me so long to find out I was wrong
Now I wait for her in the night
Train of gold, train of gold
I dont believe her, it just couldnt be her
I cant get it out of my mind
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Country
i let you drive
as i sit calmly on the rear side of the car,
i do not wish to speak to you
as i watch the countryside
on a very hot summer
rice fields newly harvested
cracking chunks of soil, brown grass, stacks of hay,
trees with yellow leaves, smoke from the house chimneys,
patches of fog hanging on mountains
behind us on this road towards home
dusts, dusts, dusts.....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Darkness Falls Like A Shadow Over You (In Answer To Pablo Neruda)
The darkness falls like a shadow over you,
where your eyes gleam like that of a cat
as the silver twilight sudden start to rush in
and abstracted your face fades into twilight.
Without a word you gaze into the night,
gaze down at neon lights flickering on,
while I am alone in our big hot bed
and there is a kind of loneliness that comes
with this early evening’s magical hour,
while the sun flames in its red glowing fire
that splashes over your white dress
as the night sets its roots into our souls
while hidden things suddenly come to life,
as your gentle laughter touches me very deep
when you enter our bedroom with a bottle
full of sparkling champagne, full of joy.
Suddenly life is rich as if the act of creation,
is in every gentle touch, as if new beginnings
of love, joy and tender bliss are totally endless
as the city lights suddenly wink on below.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Autumn Night
leaves change color
the cool breeze flies
the song of the leaves roars
rustles and bustles in the brush
birds begin to sing to the south
sky turns red as the sun sets on an Autumn evening
clouds not white but pink
coco and cookies all around
coats and children surround
the fire of life
roads and streets quiet
what a sound, what a sight
what a wonderful Autumn night
marsh mellows in fire places
smoke of warmth fills the night sky
sweet Autumn night
make the stars shine bright
the sun rises
the moon disappears
stars that once shone
are now gone
what a night
what a sight
please Autumn day
bring one more
poem by Diana Americano
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Special Deliveries
On the King of Dreams
sparkling blue jewel
when evening arrives,
twilight delivers happily
and faithfully- continuously
night after night, every night
for both of their enjoyment
he brings delightfully
pink carnation clouds
on an azure blue sky
with a sunset of such
astonishingly perfect colour
just to see sunprincess
face, light up with a smile
poem by Rachel Nichols
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Lost Now In Twilight
Leaving London
the train pushes deep
into the countryside's
heart
a knife
between ribs
quiet as Death
the snow
seeming to grow
trees
simply to support
itself.
Snow & tree creatures
lost now in twilight.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Early Works - Misty City
City’s lights like dotted jewels
glow and blink on night’s velvet gown
mist of white blanket
creates ghostly shapes under light.
Foghorn in bay like monster’s roar
breaks silence in the city’s white crown
people, collars hugging neck
wander on their forever trek.
Quiet cities, misty city,
city by the bay,
listen to the monster baying
at your open door.
“Let us in. Let us in.” they say
and blares another trumpet blast.
“Let us in. Let us in.”.
Your white guardian to pass.
Sleeping city, misty city,
city with halo crown
people in their pastures lay
arms unfurled on bodies round.
Silent demands on shadows lay
across the still waters of the bay.
Ghostly crown holds no pity
welcomes no one to the misty city.
15 June 1978
poem by David Harris
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Oh To Be Out In The Country
A hot day in the city and scarce a puff of breeze
Oh to be out in the country in the cool shade of the trees
In the shadow of the wattles leafing through a favourite book
Listening to the coot and black duck calling in the quiet brook.
Oh to be out in the country on this sunny Summer's day
In the hills above Wonthaggi more than eighty miles away
In the shadow of the gum trees many miles from city street
Stretched and resting on the fog grass sheltering from the mid day heat.
I feel tired of city living city life's a hard old slog
And I am sick of man's pollution sick of breathing smoke and smog
Oh to be out in the country by a creek enjoying a beer
In a World free of pollution many miles away from here.
A hot day in the city near thirty five degrees
Oh to be out in the country in the cool shade of the trees
In the shadow of the gum trees many miles from city street
Stretched and resting on the fog grass sheltering from the mid day heat.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A September Night In The Countryside
Out there in the quiet countryside in the still of the night
The unmistakeable cry of a hunting fox in the moonlight
And perhaps at the threat of a predator to their ground nest nearby
The wary spur wing plovers are calling as they fly
Like the fox the predatory night birds have young to feed this time of year
And the loud screech of a barn owl not a pleasant sound to hear
And to the boobook calls of mopoke on the nearby trees
The brooding small bird in her nest does listen with a sense of unease
On the quiet rural roadway few cars pass up and down
On a September night in the countryside miles from the nearest town
And the calls of the male ringtail possum one never could mistake
He will be back in his leafy nest before sunrise at daybreak
The predatory birds and animals who hide from the lamp of day
In the still of a September night are out hunting for prey.
poem by Francis Duggan
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City Nightfall
SMOKE upon smoke; over the stone lips
Of chimneys bleeding, a darker fume descends.
Night, the old nun, in voiceless pity bends
To kiss corruption, so fabulous her pity.
All drowns in night. Even the lazar drowns
In earth at last, and rises up afresh,
Married to dust with an Infanta's flesh—
So night, like earth, receives this poisoned city,
Charging its air with beauty, coasting its lanterns
With mains of darkness, till the leprous clay
Dissolves, and pavements drift away,
And there is only the quiet noise of planets feeding.
And those who chafe here, limed on the iron twigs,
No greater seem than sparrows, all their cries,
Their clockwork and their merchandise,
Frolic of painted dolls. I pass unheeding.
poem by Kenneth Slessor
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Let Us Forget Our Villages...
Villages, my friend, are no more those heavens.
You used to tell about villages living, I remember.
Villages, my friend, are no more those marvels.
You used to boast about the ones quite variant, I recall.
Villages have begun to grow its heights,
Its vast expanses shrinking to a few yards.
Villages have sent away their caring mothers to the towns,
Villages have driven away their milky animals to the farm houses.
That`s why my friend, I can`t take you to my village
And when you offer to do so, I am not inclined.
Let us hide in the fortress of this city`s hard walls known to us and
Forget our villages where our memories wander as ghosts.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Welsh Highland Railway
A belch of smoke and steam,
and a whistle wail
we move with a clickty-clack along the rails.
Then with the train then gathering speed,
our journey begins with more whistle wails.
The carriage throws us around this way and that
as the old steam train rolls down the track.
Visions of happy days gone by,
with billowing smoke and steam.
Fragrancing the air on our ride
of nostalgic days and old ways.
As we ride the rails on a train
of the Welsh Highland Railway.
poem by David Harris
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Paddy Magee
What are you doing now, Paddy Magee?
Grafting, or spelling now, Paddy Magee?
Breaking, or branding?
Or overlanding,
Out on the sand ridges, Paddy Magee?
Is your mouth parched, from an all-night spree?
Taking a pick-me-up, Paddy Magee?
Cocktail - or simple soda and b.? -
Which is the 'antidote,' Paddy Magee?
Still 'shook' on some beautiful, blushing she?
Girl in the Bogan side, Paddy Magee?
A hack providing
For moonlight riding,
Side-saddle foolery, Paddy Magee?
Up on the station - or in the town -
Or on the Warrego, droving down,
Whatever you're doing - wherever you be!
'There's lashin's o' luck to ye!' Paddy Magee!
poem by Harry 'Breaker' Harbord Morant
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