The Walking Foot Pen, The Spreading Legs Of Paper
and why should the pen keep walking
and the paper keep expanding? why should they
all become human, soft and fragile,
and too accommodating for all these
restlessness of the spirit?
they are our friends, all these poems
they are our circle of acquaintances
passengers all, waiting on the train station
for another transport,
to where? that is the surprise
today.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Meet Me At The Station
(brother williams memphis sanctified singers)
Well if I get to heaven before you do
I will meet you at the station when your train comes along
Ill be watching and waiting, mother dear, for you
I will meet you at the station when your train comes along
Father, when the train
Father, when the train
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
When the train
Father, when the train comes along
I will meet you at the station when your train comes along
Well if my eyes see the glory, before yours do
I will meet you at the station when your train comes along
Ill be watching and waiting, father, for you
I will meet you at the station whe your train comes along
Father, when the train
Father, when the train
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
Father, when the train
Father, when the train comes along
I will meet you at the station when your train comes along
Now if my feet touch the homeline before yours do
I will meet you at the station when the train comes along
Ill be watching and waiting, my brother, for you
I will meet you at the station when the train comes along
When the train
When the train
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
When the train
When the train comes along
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
When the train
When the train
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
When the train
When the train comes along
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
Now if you see gods country before I do
Will you meet me at the station when my train comes along
Will you be there watching, sister, for me
Will you meet me at the station when my train comes along
When my train
When my train
Meet me at the station when my train comes along
When my train
Sister, when my train comes along
Will you meet me at the station when my train comes along
When the train
When the train
Meet me at the station when my train comes along
When the train
Oh, when the train
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The homebound night train whistles
There he goes home carrying holey bags full of hopes
After the eternal struggle.
Though it's an express train the kind Engine driver stops at every station as he doesn't want to leave the passengers in the darkness.
But some they do not encourage the delay.
Through the dim lights in the compartment he recognizes his friends.
Some with gray beards and walking sticks.
He secretly looks at the window pane through his thick glasses
And realizes that he too become old gradually.
He deeply think of his family
Already they must have come to the village ruined station and wait at the platform eagerly.
It seemed to be a re-union but he has to come back on the same train some other day to fight with the decaying life again.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Space Station Mia
Sitting on a slow train-watching the grey sky
I smell your closeness as you take a seat close by
And soon I fantasize over your reflection
You don't see my advances of deception
Ain't it funny how someone so near
Can act as if they are on the Space Station Mia
Tickets please-the fat man says
You lend me a smile as he waddles away
I am fascinated to see what your text message says
Is it from your lover-does he miss you today
Ain't it funny how someone so near
Can act as if they are on the Space Station Mia
Every station that passes- every stop we make
Adds another word to what I should say
Were slowing down-your walking away
My lost conversation - my sunshine today
Ain't it funny how someone so near
Can act as if they are on the Space Station Mia
Space Station Mia
poem by Michael WheelerWyatt
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Joy on the Trains at Jubilee Time
At the station, the platform is packed.
Soon our train is heading down the track.
As our London-bound train slowly approaches,
I am surprised by the evident lack of coaches.
The ensuing rush to get on, is all rather manic.
The Guard blows his whistle and everyone panics.
Upon the platform, there's soon no one left,
But many new passengers are out of breath.
Once onboard, there is standing room only:
There's certainly no chance of being lonely.
Of vacant seats, I see there is a major lack,
So I stand, holding on to the luggage rack.
Some people are huddled up by the doors,
Whilst others plump for a seat on the floor.
At the next station, they don't release all the doors:
Our already packed train can only take a few more.
By the time that our train reaches Woking,
It's a real nightmare - I wish I was joking,
But passengers are left abandoned on the platform:
Their faces disappointed, they all look so forlorn.
I overhear a number of passengers complain
About the distinct lack of carriages on our train.
During my journey, I spend most of my time
Thinking up sentences which, nicely, rhyme.
By the time our train pulls in to Waterloo,
With my new poem, I am almost through.
We're ten minutes late and the Guard explains
This was due to passengers boarding the train.
When I head home again, it is getting quite late.
And the number of carriages now totals eight.
No one is standing: everybody has a seat.
I travel home in comfort. Oh, what a treat!
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Last Train To Clarkesville
Take the last train to Clarksville,
And I'll meet you at the station.
You can be be there by four thirty,
'Cause I made your reservation.
Don't be slow, oh, no, no, no!
Oh, no, no, no!
'Cause I'm leavin' in the morning
And I must see you again
We'll have one more night together
'Til the morning brings my train.
And I must go, oh, no, no, no!
Oh, no, no, no!
And I don't know if I'm ever coming home.
Take the last train to Clarksville.
I'll be waiting at the station.
We'll have time for coffee flavored kisses
And a bit of conversation.
Oh... Oh, no, no, no!
Oh, no, no, no!
Take the last train to Clarksville,
Now I must hang up the phone.
I can't hear you in this noisy
Railroad station all alone.
I'm feelin' low. Oh, no, no, no!
Oh, no, no, no!
And I don't know if I'm ever coming home.
Take the last train to Clarksville,
Take the last train to Clarksville,
[repeat and fade
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Last Train To Clarksville
Words and music by
Tommy boyce and bobby hart
Take the last train to clarksville,
And Ill meet you at the station.
You can be be there by four thirty,
cause I made your reservation.
Dont be slow, oh, no, no, no!
Oh, no, no, no!
cause Im leavin in the morning
And I must see you again
Well have one more night together
til the morning brings my train.
And I must go, oh, no, no, no!
Oh, no, no, no!
And I dont know if Im ever coming home.
Take the last train to clarksville.
Ill be waiting at the station.
Well have time for coffee flavored kisses
And a bit of conversation.
Oh... oh, no, no, no!
Oh, no, no, no!
Take the last train to clarksville,
Now I must hang up the phone.
I cant hear you in this noisy
Railroad station all alone.
Im feelin low. oh, no, no, no!
Oh, no, no, no!
And I dont know if Im ever coming home.
Take the last train to clarksville,
Take the last train to clarksville,
[repeat and fade]
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Station Man
Written by danny kirwan, john mcvie, and jeremy spencer.
Station man
Ive been waiting
Can you tell me
When were leaving
Midnight train
Now is leaving
Engine screaming
Ah, ah
Ah, ah
Ah, ah
Ah, ah
Where Im going I dont know
But you tell me I must go
When were leaving I dont know
But you tell me now
I see its coming
And bringing something
This train of lovin
I see its comin
I feel its runnin
This train of lovin
From ages past
Station man
Ive been waiting
Can you tell me
When were leaving
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Stag Party
To the ‘stags' standing up in my carriage,
I realise that one of you is soon to be married,
But please couldn't all of you just take a seat?
And do I really have to listen to that beat?
No doubt you'll all be out on the town tonight,
But to disturb other passengers, you have no right.
Your spirits are obviously soaring way up high,
And I notice that the Guard has turned a blind eye.
Your weekend of fun, I do not wish to mar,
But you are on a train, lads: not in a bar!
You've all obviously had quite a bit to drink:
I wonder what our fellow passengers all think?
Why don't you save the high jinks for later on?
Then, if you want, you can even burst into song!
I had been planning to sit here and read my book,
But, out of the train window, I now sit and look.
The seats on the other carriages were mostly reserved.
Tone it down a bit! You're getting right on my nerves!
This particular carriage, I had no choice, but to pick,
And you guys are really starting to get on my wick.
You're chatting non-stop and laughing out loud:
Why do you have to be such an annoying crowd?
For other passengers, you have no consideration,
And I'm glad that you're leaving at the next station.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Fate Hanged on a Hairbreadth
It was summer,1944.
The train stood at the railway station of Gyŏr,
halfway on the road
between Budapest and Vienna.
In the boxcars
there were over 3,000 passengers.
The Hungarian gendarmes squeezed
the deported men, women and children
like sardines into the wagons
and the prisoners were crying for help.
For the SS-Unterscharführer
assigned to the transport
it was just another job.
The corporal already directed
many similar trains to the east.
And those trains always went to the east
and to the same terminus.
However, this transport of deportees
was unlike the others.
The SS corporal made a fatal mistake
but the guards discovered this
only at the Slovakian border.
The train's number was not
on the list of transports
destined for Auschwitz.
The train stopped
at the Slovakian border.
Here the guards contacted
Colonel Adolf Eichmann by telephone
and informed him about the error.
Eichmann decided
that since the train traveled that far
it should continue to Auschwitz.
So the SS guards changed the serial number
of the train and replaced it with the number
of another train departing from Debrecen.
Thus, instead of the death camp
of Auschwitz-Birkenau
in Nazi occupied Poland,
the train from Debrecen
was sent to the distribution camp
of Strasshof in Austria.
As you see,
fate hanged in the war on a hairbreadth.
A freak of chance, a random accident,
an oversight of procedure,
or of a supposed algorithm,
could lead to arbitrary decisions
regarding the life or death of thousands.
Although Strasshof
was a brutal slave labor lager,
most people there,
about 14,000 of the 21,000 deportees,
survived the ordeal of the Holocaust.
poem by Paul Hartal
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Trouble On The Trains
Many of us often have to travel by train,
But the delays and overcrowding drive us insane.
The announcement at the station, informs of delays due to leaf fall,
But the computerized voice used, doesn’t sound very sorry at all.
Your train is now running well over twenty minutes late,
But, annoyingly, you have no choice, but to stand and wait.
At the watch on your wrist, you constantly look,
While some others immerse themselves in a book.
Then there are times when we have the wrong kind of snow,
Which means all of the trains are on a complete go-slow.
Stood on the crowded platform, you look down the track,
But, of a train approaching, unfortunately there’s a big lack.
The train slowly pulls in to the station – it’s finally here,
And from the waiting passengers, up goes a big cheer.
More often than not, there isn’t a spare seat,
So you spend your entire journey stood on your feet.
You stand tightly packed together like a tin of sardines,
Along with a large group of loud, gobby, young teens.
You feel awkward with their public displays of affection,
And quickly avert your eyes in the opposite direction.
At the next station, passenger wise, getting on, are even more,
So now you’re squashed together twice as tightly as before.
Inside the train, it’s getting really hot and stuffy.
Inside you, you’re feeling claustrophobic and puffy.
There are very similar scenes up and down the entire nation,
And you’re overjoyed when you finally reach your destination.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Solidarity
The last train stopped at midnight
With the passengers!
A mechanicl fault it seems.
And an old bus towed her
To the last destination!
All the passengers and the disabled train
Gave lot of thanks to the bus.
That's all!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Next Train To Eden
..... will be leaving All Reason
just as soon as it’s all clear...
But I’m too busy thinking
about poems and Cathedrals
and beaks and polished claws
tearing flesh from purpose.
And I hunt the heart that sees it
but vaguely sense I’ve lost it
to someone else’s poem
to someone else’s heart..
And this railway line that reaches
flows too much like a river.
And the race is surely done, the heart is surely gone
but the train is waiting on, the train is waiting on
Our poems all approximate
A reaching for and rising
To those great cathedrals closing
On the echoes of our truths,
and we build them
and we build them
We inch and edge towards them
O’er the tempting bridgeless gulf
Or paint and paint and paint
to bridge it but in vain
‘Til the heart is surely worn, the heart is surely gone
But the train is waiting on, the train is waiting on
And all these dried out sorcerers
with their ladders of technique
throw and throw and throw them
as if they’ll take us closer;
like the mariner who learns
every rock and every bell
and every flashing nuance
of nautical detail
and in the end he knows the sea
like a dog might know Vermeer.
And their beaks and claws are on.. the heart that’s surely worn
while the train is waiting on, the train is waiting on
I’ve read them through,
and through them blew
the pointless winds of Mars
on the trail of thin rewards
whittled crisp from hearts
in their cloisters in the sky
where heart is out of fashion
leaving reason like a canyon
and knowledge knowing nothing
can never hold dominion
For revelation comes when they’re turning down their thumbs
their beaks and claws upon the signature that runs
to catch the train that waits, that’s surely waiting on
and seeing what we’ve done, all the stars are on the run
All the stars are on the run
but a poem like Atlantis
calls us to the station
for this one time only train
and though worldliness from shadows
casts its nets upon the waters
the creaking wheels are turning
the Eden seal is burning
And all of science watches
as the clocks are rushing on;
and as vanity shouts proudly
'I can't afford the fare'.
the whistle's blowing loudly
and there's fighting at the gate
For the waiting train is gone, the waiting train is gone
where tomorrows aren't numbered, where the walking wounded run,
where passports won't be checked, where every curse is blessed
Yes the homebound train is gone where the Eden river runs
And I'm still standing here,
weighing pros and cons
28 03 08
An Epistle
They taught to pray to God
When I was less than five
I prayed to God
to take away my life
Since then I have prayed to him
now and then
to kill me
I am 65 now
Readers I assure you
God if any is surely Deaf
Hence let us live
as long as we have to
with a heigh ho and heigh nonino
I am at the station
But the train is late
the train that should carry me away
from market ridden spaceship
to somewhere
where I do not know
The apsaras
generated by Thai classical dance
might take me in their wings
to a different galaxy
in a different universe
But they donot hover in the skies
If the train is not there
let us wait for them
to swoop upon the earth
Life is a long waiting
Waiting and waiting
Better enter into the tavern
at the station
and drink and smoke
Have a lot of grapes
That is received Lucretious
or Omar Khayyam
poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
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Paper Door
I step through the open door
upon a blank sheet of paper.
It's a room to dream into
but, it is often cold, and so damn empty.
It's cleansed and illuminated
by the presence of a holy melancholy.
Hasten the words come, and
take the loneliness away.
The pen is a train
passing through this small paper-room.
The thoughts are tracks
it lays down.
Picking up passengers of the night
it moves ever along.
The riders so briefly talk and sing
with such sweet stories to tell.
Soon all the traveller's will have left the station
and the room again, becomes Void.
I take my leave...
and softly close the door behind me.
- so many see the facts of life all about them,
yet are blind to the beautiful metaphors within everything -
poem by Smoky Hoss
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A Messy Life...
this house where we live
is just a train station and we are the trains always leaving to places
leaving smoke and
splinters of our
steel wheels
then when the real time comes for change
we only become passengers moving and moving and waving hands
the train station becomes a mark
that we soon forget in the books
on broken ears
and folded pages but we do not remember any page
not even the idea
of the character that we claim to have loved that much
things are messy really
but who cares? we look forward to the flashes of hills and towns
everything fades
like overused denims.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Come Holy Spirit
He is walking on the surface of the earth.
Searching for souls for Messiah.
He is the Holy Spirit.
He wants to help
but He has to be invited.
Say come Holy Spirit.
The stakes are high.
Your eternal life
depends on this decision.
Welcome Him today.
Don't delay,
for tomorrow is not promised.
This is the day of salvation.
Say come Holy Spirit.
He is walking on the surface
of the earth with a gift for you.
Take it!
Say come Holy Spirit,
today,
today,
today.
poem by Buxton Shippy
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City Of Autumn
Going another country by train I was dreaming
Touching sky-cloud train is running expanding wing
At last the train stopped at station of universe
In city of autumn all got up hanging stairs
Glamorous of flowers spread aroma keeping time with air
Bees cultivate honey with buzzing sound at garden of flower
I wake up and found city of autumn is yet far reaching.
poem by Bongokobida Zakaria
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Mystery Train
(herman parker/sam phillips)
Train arrive 16 coaches long
Train arrive 16 coaches long
Well that long black train
Took my baby back home
Train train rolling round the bend
Train train rolling round the bend
Well it took my baby
Away from me again
Went down to the station
To meet my baby at the gate
Ask the station master
If her train is running late
He said no if your wait
On that old 44
I hate to tell you son
But that train dont stop her anymore
Train train rolling round the bend
Train train rolling round the bend
Well it took my baby
Away from me again
Heard that whistle blowing
It was the middle of the night
When I got down to the station
The train was rolling out of site
Mystery train rolling round the bend
Mystery train rolling round the bend
Well it took my baby
Away from me again
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Train To Heaven
(4/10/12)
It was a long wait - but soon they would
Be at that gate.
The train that would take him to heaven
To join all his family and friends
Where a new life would begin and never end.
A life where there is nothing but beauty and peace
And the heart would find relief.
The conductor showing you everything in your past life
Some bad - a lot nice.
Of people you touched along the way
And of things they had to say.
everybody when they pass away
Boards this train on a given day.
This train makes three stops
As strange as it may seem
Heaven, hell, and purgatory
"Sounds like a familiar story"!
Purgatory being the place of things
In your past life - you must face.
But you are on the "7th ave. express."
Cause you passed all the tests.
You had a heart which was pure as gold
And all the angels have been told.
All these other passengers that are on this train with you
Have gone through the same things too.
All of you had came to this "times square station"
Because you had found your salvation.
They gathered together like fallen needles from a pine tree
Multitudes of souls that were finally free.
At the gate you will be greeted by SAINT PETER
Who will show you the way to all your family and friends
And this joy will never end.
poem by Louis Rams
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My old drunkard companion
Once a war veteran, who goes
with an old haversack which carry the belongings
hanging on his shoulder.
On his way towards the pedestrian crossing
stands at a bus stop a long time
and waiting for the train called 'Desire'.
Which is scheduled via the Cancer Reservation.
He lit a cheap cigarette, pulled a big puff to bottom of his lungs
and talking to himself.
'It seems to be an exile.'
Sounds of the locomotive echoes as ' passengers get ready please,
those who want to disembark at the station of farewell to the existence'.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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