En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Steam-train to the stars

there would be no count-down
or blast-off
no excessive speed
just a gradual accelaration

no need for cumbersome attire
a blazer or a sweater would suffice

they're off
roof-top height
then the clouds

or is it steam
or smoke
or fire

no it's the setting sun

and then the parachutes
we counted three

the engine-driver
the fireman
and the guard

someone observed
jokingly

poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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Engine Of The Soul

Build me an engine -lady of my dream,
Let it be powered by eternal steam.
May patience be your tool of design,
Planning completeness with a cunning mind.
To drive the pistons of a soul's production,
We need fire with extreme combustion.
This fire from the fervor of powerful prayer
Will create the steam with warmth to spare.
The engine comes to life with a blast and a toot,
And begins to harvest the spiritual fruit.
Run on my soul, with speed aplenty;
For the harvest is rich and the prayers are many.

poem by Albert Price
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Janice and You at Waterloo Station

At Waterloo Station
the steam engines
puffed powerful steam
reaching up

to the rooftop
and you stood there
hands in your pockets
your nose sniffing in

the white and grey smell
you can taste it
on your tongue
and Janice beside you

her eyes looked up
at the rooftop
as the steam
reached high

her hands clutching
the small bag
I want to be a train driver
when I'm older

you said
I want to smell
that smell
and breathe in

that steam and shovel
coal in the engine
maybe you will
Janice said

maybe you'll be
on a train like that
big and black
and powerful

she put her hand
under your arm
and squeezed
Gran said we can be

what we want
if we want it
bad enough
Janice added

you felt her hand
under your arm
sensed her squeeze it
we went to the seaside

on a big black train
like this last year
you said
and I put my head

out the train window
and my mum said
keep your head in
or a train

will knock it off
that'd be horrible
Janice said
she clutched

closer to you
as the steam train
puffed out more steam
and the sound was loud

and powerful
and she said
maybe
when you're an engine driver

you can take me
to the seaside
with Gran
yes

you said
and if you come
to the engine
before you take off

I can show you
the engine
and how powerful it is
and she smiled

and put her head
on your shoulder
yes
you said softly

when I grow up
and when I am older.

poem by Terry Collett
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Steam Engine

Lead vocal: micky dolenz
Produced by: chip douglas
Mr. engineer, slow the engine down some more.
Youre movin just a little too fast,
Ive got my foot down clear to the floor.
Steam engine, engine 99
Steam drivers, rollin right on by.
Mr. engineer, you see Ive got a little problem here.
My baby, shes aboard your train,
She says shes never comin back again.
Steam engine, engine 99
Steam drivers, rollin right on by.
She told me good bye, she said Im leavin you behind.
I think Im gonna die, if I hear that whistle whine.
Mr. engineer, slow the engine down some more.
Youre movin movin just a little too fast,
Ive got my foot down clear to the floor.
Steam engine, engine 99
Steam drivers, rollin right on by.
(steam engines)gotta keep on keep on rollin.
(steam engines)shes gonna leave me behind.
(steam engines)i might as well go home.
(steam engines)shes gonna leave me behind.
(steam engines)i might as well go home.

song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Cooking Recalls The Past

The steam is hissing from the spout
As the pressure cooker pushes it out
Takes my back to my childhood past
As great steam engines go flying past

Huffing and puffing plumes of smoke
You cough and splutter it makes you choke
The ground it shakes under foot
As you hear that high pitched toot

Traveling along its metal road
Its boiler bubbling to near explode
As it carries its heavy load
Driver on his footplate stood

Face covered in oil and with soot
Proud was he as was his dad
For an engine driver he was glad

Timer rings cooking done
Brings me back form times of childhood fun

25 10 10
Chellaston

poem by Jim O'Donnell
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The Fireman

They call me the fireman
Thats my name
Makin my rounds all over town
Puttin out old flames
Well everybodyd like to have what Ive got
I can cool em down while theyre smolderin hot
Im the fireman
Thats my name
Last night they had a bad one a mile or two down the road
Well my buddy walked out and left this woman burnin out of control
Well I was down there in bout an hour or so
With a little mouth to mouth she was ready to go
Im the fireman thats my name
They call me the fireman
Thats my name
Makin my rounds all over town puttin out all flames
Well everybodyd like to have what Ive got
I can cool em down while theyre smolderin hot
Im the fireman thats my name...burn em up
Ive got fire-engine red t-bird automobile
In a minute or less I can be dressed fit to kill
I work twenty-four on and twenty-four off
When they get too hot, they just give me a call
Im the fireman, thats my name
They call me the fireman, thats my name
Makin my rounds all over town puttin out old flames
Well everybodyd like to have what Ive got
I can cool em down while theyre smolderin hot
Im the fireman, thats my name
They call me the fireman
Thats my name.

song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Antwerp To Ghent

We are upon the Scheldt. We know we move
Because there is a floating at our eyes
Whatso they seek; and because all the things
Which on our outset were distinct and large
Are smaller and much weaker and quite grey,
And at last gone from us. No motion else.
We are upon the road. The thin swift moon
Runs with the running clouds that are the sky,
And with the running water runs—at whiles
Weak 'neath the film and heavy growth of reeds.
The country swims with motion. Time itself
Is consciously beside us, and perceived.
Our speed is such the sparks our engine leaves
Are burning after the whole train has passed.
The darkness is a tumult. We tear on,
The roll behind us and the cry before,
Constantly, in a lull of intense speed
And thunder. Any other sound is known
Merely by sight. The shrubs, the trees your eye
Scans for their growth, are far along in haze.
The sky has lost its clouds, and lies away
Oppressively at calm: the moon has failed:
Our speed has set the wind against us. Now
Our engine's heat is fiercer, and flings up
Great glares alongside. Wind and steam and speed
And clamour and the night. We are in Ghent.

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Fireman

When fire sits on top of the head
Smoke can hardly enter the nostrils
Feet walking on coals
And fire bugs bite

The fireman loves
He puts on the axe in hand
Better than class rings
Even other rings

Fires burn when they do a job
How the man can burn without
Restriction can burn a man about
Head to toe

The soul is made pure by fire
Man loves to burn
It is even his desire
Afterwards he must
Needs be tended to

If not
The fire has yet a job to do
To burn a man through and through
If so

Hold him dear
In the fire he bore many tears
In this fashion
He lives all his years

What is fire?
It's much like Our Father
Or yet
He be the fireman
And we on fire

poem by Deci Hernandez
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Jerry Was A Race Car Driver

Jerry was a race car driver
And he drove so goddamned fast
He never did win no checkered flag
But he never did come in last
Jerry was a race car driver
Hed say el solo number one
With a bocephus sticker
On his 442 hed light em up
Just for fun
Captain pierce was a fireman
Richmond engine #3
Ill be a wealthy man when I get
A dime for all the things that
Man taught to me
Captain pierce was a strong man
Strong as any man alive
It stuck in his craw that they
Made him retire at the age of 65
Jerry was a race car driver
22 years old
Had too many cold beers one night
And wrapped himself around a telephone pole.

song performed by by Primus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Put Your Foot On the Pedal

No ember that you've struck...
Could heat up a fire burning out.
And no engine that is cool...
Should keep ready,
For a driver who ain't behind the wheel.
Or thinking that a boost,
Is not needed to get started.

You gotta give up,
Mo' steam.
And get up offa that...
Low self-esteem.

You gotta give up,
Mo' steam.
And get up offa that,
Low self-esteem.

Put your foot on the pedal,
And steer me to all your needs.
Put your foot on the pedal.
Put the pedal to the metal.

Put your foot on the pedal,
And steer me to all your needs.
Put your foot on the pedal.
Put the pedal to the metal.

Put that pedal to the metal,
If you wanna get with me.
Put your foot on the pedal.
Put that pedal to the metal.

Put your foot on the pedal,
And steer me to all your needs.
Put your foot on the pedal.
Put the pedal to the metal.

No ember that you've struck...
Could heat up a fire burning out.
And no engine that is cool...
Should keep ready,
For a driver who ain't behind the wheel.
Or thinking that a boost,
Is not needed to get started.

You gotta give up,
Mo' steam.
And get up offa that...
Low self-esteem.

You gotta give up,
Mo' steam.
And get up offa that,
Low self-esteem.

Put that pedal to the metal,
If you wanna get with me.
Put your foot on the pedal.
Put that pedal to the metal.

Put that pedal to the metal,
If you wanna get with me.
Put your foot on the pedal.
Put that pedal to the metal.

If you wanna get with me.
You gotta pedal to the metal.
Put your foot on the pedal.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Speed

Running from the nightmare
In the middle of the road
Hells no place for sleeping
In a world beyond control
Caught in the headlights
Coming after you
When I woke up this morning
I had to do what I gotta do
Blast me to heaven for loving you
Blast me to heaven for loving you
Speed
Give me what I need
Yeah
White lightning
Lets speed, on speed
On wheels, on wheels
Speed
Oh, let it bleed
Yeah
Greased lightning
Lets speed, on speed
On wheels, on wheels
Ive seen a train full of pain
On the edge of overload
Were in heaven, baby
You are gonna implode
Ive got these crazy feelings
That I cant explain
Ive gotta save you baby
Or Ill die in vain
Blast me to heaven for loving you
I said blast me to heaven just for loving you
I said speed
Give me what I need
Yeah
White lightning
Lets speed, on speed
On wheels, on wheels
Speed
Oh, let it bleed
Yeah
Greased lightning
Lets speed, on speed
On wheels, on wheels
Blast me to heaven for loving you
I said blast me to heaven for loving you
Now Im rushing on the run, yeah
I wanna have me some fun
Ill speed
Give me what I need
Oh, set me free
Lets speed
On wheels, on wheels, on wheels
Said speed
Oh, let it bleed
Yeah
White lightning
Lets speed, on speed
On wheels, on wheels
Comon
I said speed, speed
Give me what I need
I said speed, speed
Give me what I need
Alright

song performed by by Billy Idol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Quick One While Hes Away

I. her mans been gone
Her mans been gone
For nearly a year
He was due home yesterday
But he aint here
Her mans been gone
For nigh on a year
He was due home yesterday
But he aint here
Ii. crying town
Down your street your crying is a well-known sound
Your street is very well known, right here in town
Your town is very famous for the little girl
Whose cries can be heard all around the world
Iii. we have a remedy
Fa la la la la la
Fa la la la la
Fa la la la la la
Fa la la la la
We have a remedy
Youll appreciate
No need to be so sad
Hes only late
Well bring you flowers and things
Help pass your time
Well give him eagles wings
Then he can fly to you
Fa la la la la la
Fa la la la la
Fa la la la la la
Fa la la la la
Fa la la la la la
Fa la la la la la
We have a remedy
Fa la la la la la la
We have a remedy
Fa la la la la la la
We have a remedy
Fa la la la la la la
We have a remedy
Fa la la la la la la
(spoken)
We have a remedy.
We have!
Little girl, why dont you stop your crying?
Im gonna make you feel all right
Iv. ivor the engine driver
My name is ivor
Im an engine driver
I know him well
I know why you feel blue
Just cause hes late
Dont mean hell never get through
He told me he loves you
He aint no liar, I aint either
So lets have a smile for an old engine driver
So lets have a smile for an old engine driver
Please take a sweet
Come take a walk with me
Well sort it out
Back at my place, maybe
Itll come right
You aint no fool, I aint either
So why not be nice to an old engine driver?
Better be nice to an old engine driver
Better be nice to an old engine driver
V. soon be home
Well soon be home
Well soon be home
Well soon
Well soon, soon, soon be home
Well soon be home
Well soon be home
Well soon
Well soon, soon, soon be home
Come on, old horse
Soon be home
Soon be home
Soon
Well soon, soon, soon be home
Well soon
Well soon, soon, soon be home
Well soon be home
Soon be home ...
Vi. you are forgiven
Dang, dang, dang, dang, dang, dang, dang, dang, dang
Cello, cello, cello, cello, cello, cello
Cello, cello, cello, cello, cello, cello
Cello, cello, cello, cello, cello, cello
Cello, cello, cello, cello, cello, cello
I cant believe it
Do my eyes deceive me?
Am I back in your arms?
Away from all harm?
Its like a dream to be with you again
Cant believe that Im with you again
I missed you and I must admit
I kissed a few and once did sit
On ivor the engine drivers lap
And later with him, had a nap
You are forgiven, you are forgiven, you are forgiven ... (ad lib)
You are forgiven

song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Scottish Engineer

With eyes that searched in the dark,
Peering along the line,
Stood the grim Scotsman, Hector Clark,
Driver of "Forty-nine".
And the veldt-fire flamed on the hills ahead,
Like a blood-red beacon sign.

There was word of a fight to the north,
And a column too hardly pressed,
So they started the Highlanders forth.
Heedless of food or rest.

But the pipers gaily played,
Chanting their fierce delight,
And the armoured carriages rocked and swayed.
Laden with men of the Scots Brigade,
Hurrying up to the fight,
And the grim, grey Highland engineer
Driving them into the night.

Then a signal light glowed red,
And a picket came to the track.
"Enemy holding the line ahead;
Three of our mates we have left for dead,
Only we two got back."
And far to the north through the still night air
They heard the rifles crack.

And the boom of a gun rang out,
Like the sound of a deep appeal,
And the picket stood in doubt
By the side of the driving-wheel.

But the engineer looked down,
With his hand on the starting-bar,
"Ride ye back to the town,
Ye know what my orders are,
Maybe they're wanting the Scots Brigade
Up on those hills afar.

"I am no soldier at all,
Only an engineer;
But I could not bear that the folk should say
Over in Scotland -- Glasgow way --
That Hector Clark stayed here
With the Scots Brigade till the foe was gone,
With ever a rail to run her on.
Ready behind! Stand clear!

"Fireman, get you gone
Into the armoured train --
I will drive her alone;
One more trip -- and perhaps the last --
With a well-raked fire and an open blast;
Hark to the rifles again!"

On through the choking dark,
Never a lamp nor a light,
Never an engine spark
Showing her hurried flight,
Over the lonely plain
Rushed the great armoured train,
Hurrying up to the fight.

Then with her living freight
On to the foe she came,
And the rides snapped their hate.
And the darkness spouted flame.

Over the roar of the fray
The hungry bullets whined,
As she dashed through the foe that lay
Loading and firing blind,
Till the glare of the furnace, burning clear,
Showed them the form of the engineer

Sharply and well defined.
Through! They are safely through!
Hark to the column's cheer!
Surely the driver knew
He was to halt her here;
But he took no heed of the signals red,
And the fireman found, when he climbed ahead,
There on the door of his engine -- dead --
The Scottish Engineer!

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Her Hero

Like behemoths sunning themselves.
The shiny fire engines
sat before the cavelike doors
that led to their den.

As if pampering the giant beasts.
Firefighters wipe and polish
shining the apparatus.
Awaiting a frantic call for help.

In wide eyed wonder
maybe somewhat apprehensive.
She approached the engine house
clearly in distress.

Watching a crocodile tear
find its way down a rosy cheek.
With a smile the fireman asked.
“Hi can I help you? ”

“It’s Melissa she’s broken.”
She held out a tiny bundle.
To heal a broken friend
Would mend a broken heart.

The fireman with his smile
took the blanket wrapped doll.
With his life saving tools
made Melissa well again.

Handing the well Melissa
to her young guardian.
Her tears disappeared
A smile a hug of thanks.

Now happily on her way
brought a tingle in the heart
of the fireman.
Whose kindness made her day.

(15JUN99)

poem by Kurt Hearth
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To be pitiably old

Besides parents and grand parents,
Aunts and uncles were counted on.
Besides father and mother,
Nephews and nieces were counted on.
Besides brothers and sisters,
Sons and daughters were counted on.
Then their children were contemplated on.
I count days, with no more to be counted on.
20.10.2010

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Dreaming

the way to get out of a dream
is to jump

so he opened the carriage-door
and to scream

he listened to the engine roar
and the rush of smoke and steam

then they saw him
flashing by
arms waving
learning to fly

poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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His Writings On The Wall

when he was writing about
walls
he wrote the words on the walls
and they were arranged
like walls
from wall to wall his description
about the wall was
consistently like a wall
walling in all the walls
around the wall
where he was writing
consistently and
uniformly the word

wall, wall, wall, wall
and then nothing but a train of walls like this

wallwallwallwallwallwallwallwallwallw allwallwallwallwallwallwallwallwallwallwall
of course, he did notn add any smoke from steam engine
neither did he add any children and women and even men riding on the
train of walls
there was no driver even
or wheels

what he stressed was just a wall, a wall train, a wall nothing but a wall
walling him in
but what he really wanted at the end was something that should wall him out

something however that until now he is still trying to figure out

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Inspired By A Radio Story

Monarch butterflies were flitting above the smoke
And one of the New York firemen dousing the still smouldering ashes spoke
Saying those are the souls of the many who died here
On silent wings to heaven's gate they near.

The souls of those who died on that September day
Towards a better World now slowly wing their way
Of all sufferings and troubles now quite free
For to re-live in love and joy and harmony.

The smoke from the smouldering ashes their souls did release
And they now can live forever more in peace
In that paradise somewhere beyond the skies
The fireman wiped the teardrops from his eyes.

On September the eleventh New York's blackest day
When tragedy came to the U.S.A.
The great Twin Towers by aerial terrorists destroyed
And the souls still live of all of those who died.

Butterflies flew towards the sunlight above the clouds of smoke
And his comrades listened as the fireman spoke
And said those are the souls of the people who died here
On silent wings towards heaven's gate they near.

poem by Francis Duggan
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I guess the two things I was most interested in were telescopes and steam engines. My father was an engineer on a threshing rig steam engine and I loved the machinery.

quote by Clyde Tombaugh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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