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THE TRAINS GO THUNDERING BY .. . .. .
The Trains Go Thundering By .. .
The trains go thundering by
it is a figure of speech
I sit at the corner of a dusty road
forlorn of much hope
The tanks came after
then the larks sprung forth
and the shouting of the soldiers
in the gutter of the shortest day
When I was a child
we stood watching those
steam-snorting leviathans
as they go thundering by
Who believed in our future
while we sang ditty songs
in the classroom of learning
assumed mothers always know
Washed our hands in the snow
thought that we would never die
until memories of things transparent
appeared deeply with invisible ink
They, who lived twice as much
Saint Sebastian and all the rest
many have hung from a gibbet
who lived with slimmer hope
As trains go thundering by
below or above the highway
the tales we told ourselves as kids
fresh out of newspaper cones
Up on the stoney parapet
we then learned to whirl
the rattle, beat the drum
sing out loud our favourite songs
When Mr Harold came to play
on our front door, red-tiled steps
where come the RT busses
always travelling in threes
Those trains still thundering after
I lived inside my box room
middle classed in suburbia
cul-de-sac inspid with inertia
Believed in something then
but nothing anymore
not since there was HiroshiThe trains go thundering by
more a figure of speech
I sit at the corner of a dusty road
forlorn much of hope
The tanks came after
then the larks sprung forth
and the shouting of the soldiers
in the gutter at the shortest day
When we were children
standing aside to watch those
steam-snorting leviathans
as they go thundering by
We believed in our future
while we sang ditty songs
in the classroom of learning
assumed mothers always know
Washed our hands in snow
thought we would never die
until memories, things transparent
appeared deeply as in invisible ink
They, who lived twice
Saint Sebastian, all the rest
those who hung from a gibbet
who lived with summer hope
As trains go thundering by
below or above the highway
tales we told ourselves as kids
fresh from newspaper cones
Up on the stoney parapet
we learned to whirl
the rattle, beat the drum
sing out loud our favourite songs
when Mr Harold came we played
on red-tiled door steps
where come ‘RT’ busses
always travelling in threes
Those trains still thundering after
I, inside my box room
middle classed in suburbia
cul-de-sac inspid with inertia
Believing in the something
but then nothing anymore
not since Hiroshima, 9/11
the rape of common man
The antecedence of horror
the antipathy of truth
the rush of man’s desire
to conquer different tribes
Who tampers their genetics
play gods with other lives
who wrestles leviathan
controls the march of time
Watch then with your child eyes
e rape of common manwatch the loyal soldier
watch a father die
as trains go thundering by
..
.
©edenbraytoday24.12.2022
my christmas pome – 2022
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About edenbray
I'm a writer ... I write .. . I’m not sure why I ever stopped, was it 9/11? .. . edenbray is born ugly, wet and covered in blood, mucous and bodily functions ~ the effluence of my short life .. . I am a Writer and Artist since 1966 - I'm an avid Blogger ~ I write lots of poems, written essays, articles, reviews, opinion + comment .. . I have had many poems selected for Anthologies of verse and recently have published many of my poems in 24+ themed booklets ... please ask for details - join the shebang by leaving me a marker with a 'like' or a comment for my ego and encouragement and thanks for listening - I really value your interest ~ edenbray