Saturday, October 11, 2014

Night Train



Night train's mournful whistle
Ate into my heart
Hypnotized me
No, tortured me
As I remembered you

You were mine once, long ago
Your teasing flesh
Slaking our lust
Where were our brains?
Just like headless chickens

I knew you would leave me
Out of gimmicks
Liquor ran out
Uniform no draw
The machine had clicked stop

So where do I go from here?
Where's the lotion?
Where's the balm?
Just that whistle
As I remember you


Image from www.astronomerbilal.wordpress.com

18 comments:

  1. What's gone is gone...how horrible that feels...how the stars and train fall from the sky and we are left cold and shivering...but at least there are memories

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  2. That second stanza is so powerful and true.

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  3. Sometimes memories are better than the real thing. Granted not often, but sometimes.

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  4. hummmm…..funny what brings on memories?

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  5. Ooooh love the sound of this whistle echoing after the poem is read...

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  6. Brains and lust don't co-exist too successfully, do they? Ha! Loved it!

    Whirling with Alberto

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  7. That train whistle really is symbolic of missing, I think. It is good, yet hard, to remember.

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  8. I'm not having much luck posting comments today ... I'll try again. That whistle has a lot to answer for. :D

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  9. Lovely, Oldegg! Our lives' learned lessons....but do you really sorry for those experiences?

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  10. So true, that blasted whistle is mournful. You have to stop what you doing and just listen it. Knowing it does bring memories forward and you have to deal with it.

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  11. Your poem had me humming B.J. Thomas' version of "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry." Haven't thought of that in years. Thank you,

    Elizabeth

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  12. I love the "Where were our brains?" line, and also the last two.

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  13. You surely are the master of soulful reminiscence. Delightful - as always!

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  14. Excellent poem and great art to go with...a mournful nostalgic all over feel.

    http://whenthepenbleeds.blogspot.ca/2014/10/when-when.html

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  15. Wow, that torturous sound is very vivid. And the chaotic image of headless chickens, wild! I love the cold, haunting end. Bravo!!

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  16. There are all kinds of leaving, and they don't all require a train trip. I like the nostalgia of the train, though. Oddly, I've lived most of my life within the range of a train whistle.

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  17. Lovely ... reminds me of a sond I once heard long ago ... a poem to read over and over again..

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