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By hutmaster
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10 January 2008 |
From a train.
We took slow trains to London, moving clack-
clack past back doors and yards sculpted in junk
with treasure-troves of things they thought they loved;
sheds and beds and secret hiding places,
biding places where a subtle peace comes
in the company of tools. Where little
pieces of life spool out in dormant dreams
of better vegetables and jobs not got.
Unwashed coffee cups gather the dust of
fading wishes. From inside this train's fug
we send passing wishes to this land
of suburbia; all the dads and mums
toddlers and teenagers building artful
lives amidst the backyard boneyards of hope.|
Written by audrie (454 comments posted) 10th January 2008 | This reminds me of the train journey from the west country into Paddington, and all those backyards you describe so well, just before arriving at our destination.
I would often make up little fictions about the people living there and what their dreams were?
You describe it so well. |
Written by Josie (2844 comments posted) 10th January 2008 | | Little thing: we send passing wishes (or A passing wish). Yes, the train hurrying past so many stories part way through. It is the same as when you take off or come down in a plane. The dots represent lives within the dot - and a dot which represents a home which takes a lifetime of one's work to pay for. Just a dot. There's a poem coming up. I love poems about trains which have played an important part in my life. | Good piece
Written by patterjack (1429 comments posted) 10th January 2008 | Catches the bitsy effect of passing by those apparently still lives seen from a moving source. I like sculpted in junk and those odd little internal rhymes hiding , biding , spool , tools which ,fragmented as they are , catch the fragmentation of what one saw .
There are mior details I could carp at , but am overwhelmed by nostalgia for long slow trips taken in what was called the old red rattler so many years ago.
patterjack |
Written by petetheverse (164 comments posted) 10th January 2008 | HM,
Another of your descriptive & thoughtful pieces, but not, perhaps, with the quality of some of your others that I've so far seen.
Some fine phrases - backyard boneyards; hiding places, biding places.
Perhaps more prose, though, than genuine sonnet; 'all the words printed to fit' was a phrase bandied around once, and this has something of that, I think.
My phrase 'must try harder' might be be 'tried too hard'.
Sorry,
because as soon as I saw your name .......
PTV | Hi
Written by maipenrai (784 comments posted) 11th January 2008 | HM, liked this mate, a good write, and of course this is not prose it is a poem.
Bernie |
Written by hutmaster (134 comments posted) 12th January 2008 | Thanks all. Longer train journeys seem to allow time for thought. It must be the ability to see what's passing cos in a plane the process seems to be inhibited - or is that just my fear?
hm |
Written by fellpony (1696 comments posted) 13th January 2008 | this expressively (pardon the pun) catches the bumpety-bump feeling of a railway journey and the snatches of views we get from the carriage windows.
Re your remarks about what's passing when in plane, isn't that mainly clouds? Not nearly so revealing! |
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