Discontent
Late at night
our trains pass through broad meadows.
We grip controls, heavy, uncertain, anxious
about schedules,
about stalled cars on tracks,
about small children darting through the night,
small children who dare steel wheels and blinding lights
who dare death at our trembling hands;
we guide our trains
probing the night
along the measured way,
discontent,
without incident.
poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The City Children
Around the city places are particular children
Wandering like cruel expenses during the day,
And only in the night do children sleep in the city,
But the city does not turn off its lights in the deep night.
When do they spin the cars and race in the city?
In the night the children play as if wondering,
When they wonder the lights go out.
What does the mission entail?
A commencement of hostilities, a burning desire,
One of alacrity and higher purpose than any older person.
Those wise men in the whole city rely on the night
To quell the minds of the young, the young who might bite.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Darkness Dream
i dreamed...
i was lost in the night,
making my way through the trees.
small branches lashed against my face,
i could feel stone beneath my feet.
and somewhere near, but far, the sound of water.
wrapped in the stillness of night,
that has its own sounds,
its own smells.
haunted by something i couldnt define,
almost the feeling of being stalked.
i finally made my way to a moonlit clearing.
a flock of small birds rose in front of me.
in the field were children,
different colors, different languages,
all different ages...
children, playing together.
i looked closer...
and noticed their eyes...
something wrong, something odd.
a steel hard voice spoke in my ear...
'these children have never seen daylight,
and never will...'
i awakened with a start.
one word on my lips...
CHOICES!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Transport.
I thought I would write about, how we get about,
The various kinds of transport we see, when we are out;
It could be trains, or cars, buses, and trucks we see too,
So let me write a poem, maybe of interest to some of you.
Firstly I will write about, planes we see in the sky,
Small little 2 seaters, some may use to parachute, they'll try;
Next, is the helicopter, look like an insect flying so high,
And there are jets, of all kinds, but you can't see them fly.
Next. Is the trains, with large engines travelling along,
Then there's the small trains fixing the rails where they belong;
And what about the commuter trains, who take people everywhere,
Some in Sydney two levels, and people need to use the stair.
Now I come to trucks, all sizes and shapes and color,
Rubbish, milk, food trucks, then the giant coal mine ones with an odor;
There's the postal, and the fire truck, just too many to name,
But can't forget those council trucks, taking animals, that's a shame.
So what about buses and taxis, who come in handy,
When there is no trains to use, that's from city to dandy;
There are the usual cabs, and the maxi taxi,
So what a ride from anywhere in the coaches, but not for me.
The best sort of transport for disabled like me,
Is the motorised chair or scooter for us to get about,
But to travel to anywhere buses leave us out.
And so I'm glad there are scooters, and that makes me happy.
poem by Margaret Haig
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The Trains
Tunnelling through the night, the trains pass
in a splendour of power, with a sound like thunder
shaking the orchards, waking
the young from a dream, scattering like glass
the old mens' sleep, laying
a black trail over the still bloom of the orchards;
the trains go north with guns.
Strange primitive piece of flesh, the heart laid quiet
hearing their cry pierce through its thin-walled cave
recalls the forgotten tiger,
and leaps awake in its old panic riot;
and how shall mind be sober,
since blood's red thread still binds us fast in history?
Tiger, you walk through all our past and future,
troubling the children's sleep'; laying
a reeking trail across our dreams of orchards.
Racing on iron errands, the trains go by,
and over the white acres of our orchards
hurl their wild summoning cry, their animal cry….
the trains go north with guns.
poem by Judith Wright
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Trains
Here I am at the end of the day
With a cup of cold coffee
From the station buffet.
On trains, on trains I seem
To spend my life on trains.
See the blue suit banker in the ticket line.
Got an evening standard with playboy
Hidden behind.
On trains, on trains he seems
To spend his life on trains.
Time after time.
Was I just dreaming?
Did I help you aboard?
Full passenger service ---
Let me help with the door.
Sit down take the weight off your feet.
Theres a train full of people Id like
You to meet.
On trains, on trains we love
To spend our lives on trains.
Join the secret world of trains.
Feel the pleasure. touch the pain.
Drift into yesterday.
Once and again
I was just thinking.
We could meet sometime
On the 17.30 where
I usually find
My friends at the end of the day.
May we pay your fare, lady?
We should like you to stay
In our train. on trains ---
Youll have to spend your life
On trains.
I hear theres an office party on the 18.05.
Youll be home for christmas if they
Take you alive from the train.
Those trains, we have to spend our lives
On trains.
Once and again
I was just thinking.
We could meet any time
On number two platform
Where I usually find
My friends at the end of the day.
On trains, trains, trains.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Night Scene
Black windows frame dark
folded drapes; indifferent
stars peer through high arch.
Wine glass gleams. Fragrant
constellations, red dregs, swill
over empty stem.
Night trains blare, despairing
gates clang, steel wheels crease dark rails.
Night birds stir, dreaming.
poem by Steven Federle
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A Voice On The Wind
I
She walks with the wind on the windy height
When the rocks are loud and the waves are white,
And all night long she calls through the night,
'O my children, come home!'
Her bleak gown, torn as a tattered cloud,
Tosses around her like a shroud,
While over the deep her voice rings loud,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
II
Who is she who wanders alone,
When the wind drives sheer and the rain is blown?
Who walks all night and makes her moan,
'O my children, come home!'
Whose face is raised to the blinding gale;
Whose hair blows black and whose eyes are pale,
While over the world goes by her wail,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
III
She walks with the wind in the windy wood;
The dark rain drips from her hair and hood,
And her cry sobs by, like a ghost pursued,
'O my children, come home!'
Where the trees loom gaunt and the rocks stretch drear,
The owl and the fox crouch back with fear,
As wild through the wood her voice they hear,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
IV
Who is she who shudders by
When the boughs blow bare and the dead leaves fly?
Who walks all night with her wailing cry,
'O my children, come home!'
Who, strange of look, and wild of tongue,
With wan feet wounded and hands wild-wrung,
Sweeps on and on with her cry, far-flung,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
V
'Tis the Spirit of Autumn, no man sees,
The mother of Death and of Mysteries,
Who cries on the wind all night to these,
'O my children, come home!'
The Spirit of Autumn, pierced with pain,
Calling her children home again,
Death and Dreams, through ruin and rain,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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Night-Night (Children)
Night-night moon
Night-night stars
Night-night noisy
trucks and cars.
Night-night sand box
Night-night toys
Night-night other
girls and boys.
Night-night mom
Night-night dad
Night-night Boogie Man
who's not bad.
It's time to go to sleep now,
most all my night nights said.
Night-night blankie
Night-night bed.
Still
In sealed box cars travel
names across the land,
and how far they will travel so,
and will they ever get out,
don't ask, I won't say, I don't know.
The name Nathan strikes fist against wall,
the name Isaac, demented, sings,
the name Sarah calls out for water for
the name Aaron that's dying of thirst.
Don't jump while it's moving, name David.
You're a name that dooms to defeat,
given to no one, and homeless,
too heavy to bear in this land.
Let your son have a Slavic name,
for here they count hairs on the head,
for here they tell good from evil
by names and by eyelids' shape.
Don't jump while it's moving. Your son will be Lech.
Don't jump while it's moving. Not time yet.
Don't jump. The night echoes like laughter
mocking clatter of wheels upon tracks.
A cloud made of people moved over the land,
a big cloud gives a small rain, one tear,
a small rain—one tear, a dry season.
Tracks lead off into black forest.
Cor-rect, cor-rect clicks the wheel. Gladeless forest.
Cor-rect, cor-rect. Through the forest a convoy of clamors.
Cor-rect, cor-rect. Awakened in the night I hear
cor-rect, cor-rect, crash of silence on silence.
poem by Wislawa Szymborska
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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By My Side
In the dark of night
Those small hours
Uncertain and anxious
I need to call you
Rooms full of strangers
Some call me friend
But I wish you were close to me
In the dark of the night
Those small hours
I drift away
When Im with you
Chorus
In the dark of the night
By my side
In the dark of the night
By my side
By my side
By my side
I wish you were here
I wish you were here
Here comes the clown
His face is a wall
No window
No air at aall
In the dark of the night
Those faces they haunt me
But I wish you were
So close to me
By my side
By my side
I wish you were
I wish you were
Chorus
Those faces they haunt me
I wish you were so close to me
Yes I wish you were
By my side
song performed by by INXS
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Im A Small & Lonely Light
(farrar/best)
The stairs are dark and silent
The morning cold and gray
A last look at the things I knew
And slowly turn away
And as I watch the scenery unwind
My childhood slips a hundred miles behind
Leave the bus in houston
Walk around the town
But all the strange, unfriendly faces
Seem to get me down
And in the park where little children play
I sit and watch the dying of the day
Im a small and lonely light
A bird thats lost in flight
And its too late at night to go home
Im a tall and weary kite
A face thats out of sight
And its too late at night to go home
Always had the good life
Never felt unsure
But now the good lifes not enough
There must be something more
And so I sit and shiver in the dawn
And watch the world and wait to be reborn
Im a small and lonely light
A bird thats lost in flight
And its too late at night to go home
Im a tall and weary kite
A face thats out of sight
And its too late at night to go home
Too late at night to go home
But Ive talked too long my friend
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm A Small And Lonely Light
The stairs are dark and silent
The morning cold and gray
A last look at the things I knew
And slowly turn away
And as I watch the scenery unwind
My childhood slips a hundred miles behind
Leave the bus in Houston
Walk around the town
But all the strange, unfriendly faces
Seem to get me down
And in the park where little children play
I sit and watch the dying of the day
I'm a small and lonely light
A bird that's lost in flight
And it's too late at night to go home
I'm a tall and weary kite
A face that's out of sight
And it's too late at night to go home
Always had the good life
Never felt unsure
But now the good life's not enough
There must be something more
And so I sit and shiver in the dawn
And watch the world and wait to be reborn
I'm a small and lonely light
A bird that's lost in flight
And it's too late at night to go home
I'm a tall and weary kite
A face that's out of sight
And it's too late at night to go home
Too late at night to go home
But I've talked too long my friend
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Small Talk
Its not the chapters he reads when youre feeling low down
Its not the touch of his skin when you kiss him goodnight
Its not the money he spends when you want to buy a daydream
And not that miracle smile that makes the sky bright
Its not the way his hands behave
When youve turned out the light
Its the small, small small talk that makes it all happen
Small, small small talk that makes you want to fly, yes it does
Its not the way he believes in you like a religion
Its not the thrill that you get when hes holding you tight
Its not the way his eyes persuade
You to stay the night
Its the small, small small talk that makes it all happen (just like that)
Small, small small talk that makes you feel like flying, yes it does
Information, heart and soul, a whisper, a word
Confessions that have to be heard
Small small talk
Come on now, come on now
Come on - you make it rock so heavenly
Come on now, come on now
Come on - you seem to talk so heavenly
Big words...
Small talk...
Its not the way his eyes persuade
You to stay the night
Its the small, small small talk that makes it all happen
Small, small small talk that makes you feel like flying, yes it does
song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vampyre
Hair of gold
Or Ebon as night.
Skin like marble
Cold and white
Dazzling strength
The Gift of Flight
So are the children,
The Children Of Night.
Dare ye waken
The Cold blood fury?
In there grasp,
Life grows weary
Do you have the strength to resist?
No, of course not. Desist!
It Is Wonderful That There Are So Many Small Children In Israel
IT IS WONDERFUL THAT THERE ARE SO MANY SMALL CHILDREN IN ISRAEL
It is wonderful that there are so many small children in Israel
I see them everywhere and am happy when I see them.
Do they make up or compensate in some way for the million and one half Jewish children murdered a generation or two ago?
Nothing makes up for even one life lost
That we know.
But still seeing these children one invariably thinks of those other Jewish children-
I don't understand it at all-
It is wonderful that there are so many small children in Israel
Children are a great blessing and the hope of their parents and grandparents lives-
God Bless and protect these children
And let them never know the hatred the suffering the cruelty
Children no less innocent than them knew
A generation or two ago.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Sonnet # 337
Each morning bright I children see delight.
Each morning dark I children see sad crying.
The mornings bright`ve milk, bread for appetitte.
The mornings dark not e`en water for drinking.
Each night, lo, bright I happy children see.
Each night yes dark I children see so sobbing.
The nights bright`ve beds for when they`re asleep sleep.
The nights are dark not e`en a floor for resting.
So I as if I`d plenty of everything,
A palace my small room, my clothes all gold
Do come to feel I have too much of spring
When there`re children to misery they`re sold.
And then I litte eat, think have a feast
And look at children who their food has ceased.
poem by Luis Estable
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The Broom In My Hands
we walk the edge of suicidal silence,
sweeping shadows beneath curtains
with brooms made of straw.
while somewhere soupbones
boil in the pot,
and the sound of coffee making
startles children's trains on tiny tracks..
the heroin news grates against the mind,
and dogs wait in silent anticipation.
Jesus dies again, a matinee,
the Bill Of Rights stutters
neath a thin layer of dirt.
travelling shoe salesmen grope lady's legs,
and old men on park benches
peer over bifocals.
the woman ironing, in her bra and panties,
quietly curses, with trembling hands!
bare chested men split wood in the sun,
while boys tinker on cars with oily hearts.
the soldier returned home to no home,
hangs himself from the rafters.
a picture of his baby boy,
falls from his pockets.
crows gather on a wooden fence rail,
the young woman lights a crack pipe,
staring at naked walls.
while dead bodies march in lines that rhyme,
with buildings left empty,
and mailboxes spilling over.
the soft silk of the thigh,
and the lip turned up...
names whispered and lost,
small rooms speak of distance.
be it love, be it madness,
the clock falls from the wall.
and nothing feels real....
except the broom in my hands!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Examination
Abolish examination.
And who are you to take examination?
Do you know whom to examine
And how to examine?
If you are so keen to take examination
Examine yourself first.
It is not easy to examine self
And pass the examination
scoring top.
Examine self while alone
Alone at night
Alone at bed.
Dare not examine others and
Dare not examine especially children.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Trains And Boats And Planes
Trains and boats and planes are passing by
They mean a trip to Paris or Rome
To someone else but not for me
The trains and boats and planes
Took you away, away from me
We were so in love, and high above
We had a star to wish upon. Wish
And dreams come true, but not for me
The trains and boats and planes
Took you away, away from me
You are from another part of the world
You had to go back a while and then
You said you soon would return again
I'm waiting here like I promised to
I'm waiting here but where are you?
Trains and boats and planes took you a way
But every time I see them I pray
And if my prayers can cross the sea
The trains and the boats and planes
song performed by by Fountains Of Wayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Evening Song of the Thoughtful Child
Shadow children, thin and small,
Now the day is left behind,
You are dancing on the wall,
On the curtains, on the blind.
On the ceiling, children, too,
Peeping round the nursery door,
Let me come and play with you,
As we always played before.
Let's pretend that we have wings
And can really truly fly
Over every sort of things
Up and up into the sky.
Where the sweet star children play--
It does seem a dreadful rule,
They must stay inside all day.
I suppose they go to school.
And to-night, dears, do you see,
They are having such a race
With their father moon--the tree
Almost hides his funny face.
Shadow children, once at night,
I was all tucked up in bed,
Father moon came--such a fright--
Through the window poked his head;
I could see his staring eyes,
O, my dears, I was afraid,
That was not a nice surprise,
And the dreadful noise I made!
Let us make a fairy ring,
Shadow children, hand in hand,
And our songs quite softly sing
That we learned in fairyland.
Shadow children, hin and small,
See, the day is far behind;
And I kiss you--on the wall--
On the curtains--on the blind.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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