Tramp wrote:
I thought it might be nice to have a thread where stories and poems having trains at their core might be posted. Where the lost, and the penniless (aren't we all after feeding our train habits), and the usually quiet might have a place to warm there hands and listen to a poem or get a dram of something good. I'll try and make a start.
TRAINS
What these vague memories drawn through
The mind like a restless tremble of fever?
What has informed these blurred images?
This night train halt in a Pullman sleeper,
Sentinel platform lights wreathed by fog,
A face white against the moist glass,
These moving lips are whispering, as
Steam caresses the locomotive's drivers,
A wet cement platform glistening empty,
As a bent black conductor calls, All-laboard,
As a whistle signs to departure's darkness.
More steam now in a vast passenger shed,
Overhead the engineers' crisscross of iron
Like a hallucinogen's etched pattern, the
Soot patina of endless departed consists.
A baggage cart creaks, languidly pushed,
The leather of the stickered trunks and bags,
Eased along the polished baggage car floor.
A small lighted kiosk way down the platform,
"Paper, sir?" and yes, wrapped sandwiches,
magazines, candy, and the always cup of coffee.
And then the pale long legs of a woman as she
Hands herself up through the open Pullman door,
Her red coat for an instant offering precious inches.
The blind wander of the travel weary,
The tossed minute firework of a cigar end,
The crash of a couplers metallic mate,
The violent outbreath of an air-hose release,
Why are these fragments so known?
And now these thin oriental rugs and hardwood floors,
There, metal tracks to carry voltage from room to room,
There the locomotive smoke and the haunt of the whistle
Runs along the wainscoted walls and marble fireplaces.
The passenger cars light the loomed wool and waxed wood,
Move through each darkening room with the certainty of time,
This twilight caressing the mind, till it reaches level, like
A ship rising slowly in a lock.
This is not my childhood!
Whose memories are these?
For they can not be mine.
Thanks for reading. I think I need a taste of something, my throat has gone a bit dry."
Marshall
Hobo Jungle
Re: Hobo Jungle
The first post... by Tramp » Sun Mar 14, 2004 3:38 pm
----Wayne----
Back when I was growing up, if you didn't start someth'n, there wouldn't be noth'n.
--Merle Haggard
Back when I was growing up, if you didn't start someth'n, there wouldn't be noth'n.
--Merle Haggard
Re: Hobo Jungle
As forum members grow older.
it becomes much harder in anger.
to just shrug a shoulder.
It becomes so easy .
to sit down and type.
while blowing off the day's hype
Gone are the days of playing in the yard
Ahead are days of arteries turned hard.
Most run trains with no bells and whistles.
so please don't be mean
and let them blow off some steam.
Alright i'll hand in my laureate award now!
it becomes much harder in anger.
to just shrug a shoulder.
It becomes so easy .
to sit down and type.
while blowing off the day's hype
Gone are the days of playing in the yard
Ahead are days of arteries turned hard.
Most run trains with no bells and whistles.
so please don't be mean
and let them blow off some steam.
Alright i'll hand in my laureate award now!
I spend entirely too many hours a day tying my shoes
Re: Hobo Jungle
Nice Robert, poetry I can relate to.
Tramp is MTJ's poet laureate. But poetry does not sell well in this country, so he turned to art.
Mauritania is known as The country of million poets. Here is one by Mengistu Lemma, Mauritania, western Africa.
Tizita
The train hauled me out of London —
out of the smoke, the smog, the grime,
the filthy mix of soot and dust —
while the train spun fog from the fabric of steam,
clothing the land with its garment
of blessings and punishment,
Yizze kataf, yizze kataf, goes the powerful weaver.
Isn’t it amazing? Life’s a miracle:
coal smoke set free through the power of coal!
The carriage was big enough for ten,
but no one was brave enough to open the door
I’d shut fast to keep in the warmth.
Instead, they huddled in the corridor,
unwilling to share the warmth with a black man —
even though coal is black, even though
the wealth of England was forged by black coal.
The train whistled like a washint flute;
haystacks dotted the distant fields,
just like the straw roofs of houses in a village at home.
And, in the blink of an eye, I turned into
‘a traveller of God’ in the meadows of England….
‘Greetings to your household’, I cried,
I am your “black”, your unexpected, guest:
your kindness to me will bring you God’s blessings’.
‘Welcome, come in!’, the head of the household replied.
Then his wife brought a bowl of warm water,
and kneeling down happily to wash my feet,
‘Don’t be shy, my friend’, she said.
First my mouth blessed that tulla beer of Gojjam,
then a bowl arrived, and my empty stomach began to fill
as I licked the linseed oil of Gondar from my fingers;
next, chicken stew rich with curds. Contented,
I yawned. Sleep overcame me as I lay down
on fine cotton and was covered with wool….
Dimly, I heard the door slide open — but was fully awake
by the time it slammed shut. I jumped,
but then calmed myself down,
glowering at the reckless young man,
the brave one who’d dared to enter my den as I slept.
But his spotless shirt and neat matching tie made me laugh: he was so amazingly clean!
Translated from Amharic by Martin Orwin
Tramp is MTJ's poet laureate. But poetry does not sell well in this country, so he turned to art.
Mauritania is known as The country of million poets. Here is one by Mengistu Lemma, Mauritania, western Africa.
Tizita
The train hauled me out of London —
out of the smoke, the smog, the grime,
the filthy mix of soot and dust —
while the train spun fog from the fabric of steam,
clothing the land with its garment
of blessings and punishment,
Yizze kataf, yizze kataf, goes the powerful weaver.
Isn’t it amazing? Life’s a miracle:
coal smoke set free through the power of coal!
The carriage was big enough for ten,
but no one was brave enough to open the door
I’d shut fast to keep in the warmth.
Instead, they huddled in the corridor,
unwilling to share the warmth with a black man —
even though coal is black, even though
the wealth of England was forged by black coal.
The train whistled like a washint flute;
haystacks dotted the distant fields,
just like the straw roofs of houses in a village at home.
And, in the blink of an eye, I turned into
‘a traveller of God’ in the meadows of England….
‘Greetings to your household’, I cried,
I am your “black”, your unexpected, guest:
your kindness to me will bring you God’s blessings’.
‘Welcome, come in!’, the head of the household replied.
Then his wife brought a bowl of warm water,
and kneeling down happily to wash my feet,
‘Don’t be shy, my friend’, she said.
First my mouth blessed that tulla beer of Gojjam,
then a bowl arrived, and my empty stomach began to fill
as I licked the linseed oil of Gondar from my fingers;
next, chicken stew rich with curds. Contented,
I yawned. Sleep overcame me as I lay down
on fine cotton and was covered with wool….
Dimly, I heard the door slide open — but was fully awake
by the time it slammed shut. I jumped,
but then calmed myself down,
glowering at the reckless young man,
the brave one who’d dared to enter my den as I slept.
But his spotless shirt and neat matching tie made me laugh: he was so amazingly clean!
Translated from Amharic by Martin Orwin
----Wayne----
Back when I was growing up, if you didn't start someth'n, there wouldn't be noth'n.
--Merle Haggard
Back when I was growing up, if you didn't start someth'n, there wouldn't be noth'n.
--Merle Haggard
Re: Hobo Jungle
Tizita is an Amharic word meaning "memory," "nostalgia" or "longing"
----Wayne----
Back when I was growing up, if you didn't start someth'n, there wouldn't be noth'n.
--Merle Haggard
Back when I was growing up, if you didn't start someth'n, there wouldn't be noth'n.
--Merle Haggard
Re: Hobo Jungle
The trouble with a kitten is that
eventually it becomes a cat.
Ogden Nash
eventually it becomes a cat.
Ogden Nash
Torturers, White Racists, Gay Bashers, Rich Psychopaths.
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MurphOnMillerAve
- Posts: 18489
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Re: Hobo Jungle
Tramp wrote:I created this thread many years ago.
The idea was to exchange stories and poems about trains.
Instead it has become nothing but whining, whining, whining and adolescent humor which is basically disgusting.
My comment was in jest as a wake up call.
I see that failed as well....
Which "wake up call"? The unsolicited one about intercourse with the women we love?
If that was "humor," was it adolescent?
Where was the poetry?
So, go ahead , now, let me have it. My head is held low. I can take the condescension, mature approach to humor, and poetry.
Edify me further with your mature wisdom.
Murph, in all sincerity
Re: Hobo Jungle
Said it before and I'll say it again - Greatest train song ever...ever:
Silver Eagle Express
By Kinky Friedman
And I'd ride the Silver Eagle to the last town on the line
Railroad ties are not my friend the only ties that bind
Just watch the troubled countryside gently fall away
Silver Eagle, hold me, guide me, roll me homeward from today
Lose the track of time and let it flow back
Stoke the ancient furnace into flames
Running barefoot in the cinders of the Mopac
Hoppin' bedtime rides with the outlaw Jesse James
But now my heart's a worn and weary vessel
I been haulin' dreams that never seem to last
Once I slept beside a trembling trestle
Woke up lost across the rusty lifelines to the past
And I'd ride the Silver Eagle to the last town on the line
Railroad ties are not my friend the only ties that bind
Just watch the troubled countryside gently fall away
Silver Eagle, hold me, guide me, roll me homeward from today
Freedom's only station to station
A paper suitcase on the track of time
Ain't hard to tell a hard luck situation
Ain't hard to tell a homeless country poet out of rhyme
I'm gonna ride the Silver Eagle to the last town on the line
There's nothing to remember if there's nothing to remind
From the gentle Texas sunshine to the Colorado snow
Ain't no one here to hold you, boy, when the good Lord lets you go
Listened to a lot of Friedman's work while I was in college. Some of it was drivel, but some cut you right to the bone. I've lost two of my college roommates in the past few years...the words have only grown more meaningful with each passing year.
Unrelated to poetry, trains or thinking too much...hit the penny-farthing races in Frederick today:
Won't be trying this anytime soon...crazy people...
Healey
Silver Eagle Express
By Kinky Friedman
And I'd ride the Silver Eagle to the last town on the line
Railroad ties are not my friend the only ties that bind
Just watch the troubled countryside gently fall away
Silver Eagle, hold me, guide me, roll me homeward from today
Lose the track of time and let it flow back
Stoke the ancient furnace into flames
Running barefoot in the cinders of the Mopac
Hoppin' bedtime rides with the outlaw Jesse James
But now my heart's a worn and weary vessel
I been haulin' dreams that never seem to last
Once I slept beside a trembling trestle
Woke up lost across the rusty lifelines to the past
And I'd ride the Silver Eagle to the last town on the line
Railroad ties are not my friend the only ties that bind
Just watch the troubled countryside gently fall away
Silver Eagle, hold me, guide me, roll me homeward from today
Freedom's only station to station
A paper suitcase on the track of time
Ain't hard to tell a hard luck situation
Ain't hard to tell a homeless country poet out of rhyme
I'm gonna ride the Silver Eagle to the last town on the line
There's nothing to remember if there's nothing to remind
From the gentle Texas sunshine to the Colorado snow
Ain't no one here to hold you, boy, when the good Lord lets you go
Listened to a lot of Friedman's work while I was in college. Some of it was drivel, but some cut you right to the bone. I've lost two of my college roommates in the past few years...the words have only grown more meaningful with each passing year.
Unrelated to poetry, trains or thinking too much...hit the penny-farthing races in Frederick today:
Won't be trying this anytime soon...crazy people...
Healey
-
Rufus T. Firefly
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Re: Hobo Jungle
MurphOnMillerAve wrote:Edify me further with your mature wisdom.
It would be novel.
Conservatism: The intense fear that somewhere, somehow, someone you think is inferior is being treated as your equal.
-
Rufus T. Firefly
- Posts: 41330
- Joined: Wed May 16, 2007 6:52 am
- Location: Departed from this forum
Re: Hobo Jungle
healey36 wrote:Silver Eagle Express
By Kinky Friedman
I've always been partial to:
City of New Orleans and Wabash Cannonball, but then I'm also partial to Hot Rails to Hell
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p-W6k_jpcuk
the penny-farthing races in Frederick
Very cool. Thanks for posting up the photos.
Conservatism: The intense fear that somewhere, somehow, someone you think is inferior is being treated as your equal.
Re: Hobo Jungle
HILL CLIMB
For QC if he will have it
When I charged into that great darkness
As a young man, I truly believed everyone cared.
I held that hard thin wheel with such firmness
And even more belief. CHARGED toward whatever
Void could be presented. By God, it was a
Contest of wits, and win or lose,
All I cared about was how
Well I played.
Something in us always turns back to
Look at the setting sun or to embrace that
Bluing of dawn. Has nothing to do with not
Loving the night. The night is off time. No
Pressure, no expectations, we can let it run out
Reluctantly like an iced cooler in the desert.
And no real man drinks warm beer, although
I did once. Kangamangus Highway: “Say it!”
Then drive it on a January night with an APB.
These are the unspoken facts of heroic lives.
This is not the flickering of Hollywood movies
This is us, and we only do it for one thing:
GOD.
Believe it or not.
It takes 18 minutes to chill a warm beer in
Ice. You can use the bag the ice comes in,
You can use motel vending machines for ice,
Don’t need a room card, any card works fine,
However, holding it out the window at speed
No matter how cold it might be outside the car
Only seems to freeze your hand before the beer.
Chill rivers and the Atlantic do not cut it, no idea
What Hemingway was talking about. Maybe wine
Does not need to be that cold to be good on a hot
Day. But you either drink grain or grapes and the
Irish do better with grain. Ever met an Irish wino?
These are things I care about because systems make
Life easier. And when you are a devil fighter you need
Strength, endurance and cleverness to last any distance.
In the mid-1980s I drove 41 hours without stopping. But
As the grumpy woman I rescued will tell you, “You slept for
About an hour.” And she is correct, at dawn in Ontario
I did closed my eyes for twenty minutes. Yet Denver to
Northern Vermont with only a short break felt like a record to
Me. I was proud of that. I was proud that I went all the way to
California to rescue her, although we were only just friends.
But she asked me, and I went because she asked me. I drove her
Rambler across the country as she felt she couldn’t make it alone.
Did she ever thank me? Did she present me with anything for the effort?
Although I paid every one of my expenses, she still argued about money.
But now I know I didn’t do it for her. I did it for the poetry of doing it,
Which again is GOD.
GOD is aesthetics.
GOD is trying the impossible.
GOD is the poetry of belief.
GOD is Travis wailing up
Mount Washington in 5 minutes and 45 seconds.
If he thought about it,
He could not do it.
I know this and I’m sure he does too.
As Nicky said: “If you think,
By then it is too late.”
When I draw, if I become too
Conscious, I get nervous
And then must quit.
Colored pencil will not
Erase, so each mark
Remains. Each mark
Is a testament of
My belief.
Though they have EVERY advantage, the
Wealthy and powerful rarely write great
Novels or paint great pictures or make
Wonderful objects of grace and beauty,
Invent the things that improve the world.
Instead they keep destroying everything they can
In the false name if their self-serving propaganda.
When they say God they mean the DEVIL.
And this is as it is, for our lives are not for
Convenience or safety or luxury or ease.
We are here to understand and be tested,
For in death we will KNOW fully what
We have done and who we were
In her eyes, and she is as
Tough as they come.
Imagine sparring the
Devil for eternity.
So I can only pity
Those who are in such denial
And such deep unhappiness.
Because if you are really wealthy
You will never know who loves you,
And maybe that is why they have
Turned away from love into
Blind greed, the endless
More.
And I will hold the hard thin wheel again,
I will charge across my country again,
Now I am free from worry about
Others. I know who loves me,
And that knowledge transcends
Everything Earthly.
For QC if he will have it
When I charged into that great darkness
As a young man, I truly believed everyone cared.
I held that hard thin wheel with such firmness
And even more belief. CHARGED toward whatever
Void could be presented. By God, it was a
Contest of wits, and win or lose,
All I cared about was how
Well I played.
Something in us always turns back to
Look at the setting sun or to embrace that
Bluing of dawn. Has nothing to do with not
Loving the night. The night is off time. No
Pressure, no expectations, we can let it run out
Reluctantly like an iced cooler in the desert.
And no real man drinks warm beer, although
I did once. Kangamangus Highway: “Say it!”
Then drive it on a January night with an APB.
These are the unspoken facts of heroic lives.
This is not the flickering of Hollywood movies
This is us, and we only do it for one thing:
GOD.
Believe it or not.
It takes 18 minutes to chill a warm beer in
Ice. You can use the bag the ice comes in,
You can use motel vending machines for ice,
Don’t need a room card, any card works fine,
However, holding it out the window at speed
No matter how cold it might be outside the car
Only seems to freeze your hand before the beer.
Chill rivers and the Atlantic do not cut it, no idea
What Hemingway was talking about. Maybe wine
Does not need to be that cold to be good on a hot
Day. But you either drink grain or grapes and the
Irish do better with grain. Ever met an Irish wino?
These are things I care about because systems make
Life easier. And when you are a devil fighter you need
Strength, endurance and cleverness to last any distance.
In the mid-1980s I drove 41 hours without stopping. But
As the grumpy woman I rescued will tell you, “You slept for
About an hour.” And she is correct, at dawn in Ontario
I did closed my eyes for twenty minutes. Yet Denver to
Northern Vermont with only a short break felt like a record to
Me. I was proud of that. I was proud that I went all the way to
California to rescue her, although we were only just friends.
But she asked me, and I went because she asked me. I drove her
Rambler across the country as she felt she couldn’t make it alone.
Did she ever thank me? Did she present me with anything for the effort?
Although I paid every one of my expenses, she still argued about money.
But now I know I didn’t do it for her. I did it for the poetry of doing it,
Which again is GOD.
GOD is aesthetics.
GOD is trying the impossible.
GOD is the poetry of belief.
GOD is Travis wailing up
Mount Washington in 5 minutes and 45 seconds.
If he thought about it,
He could not do it.
I know this and I’m sure he does too.
As Nicky said: “If you think,
By then it is too late.”
When I draw, if I become too
Conscious, I get nervous
And then must quit.
Colored pencil will not
Erase, so each mark
Remains. Each mark
Is a testament of
My belief.
Though they have EVERY advantage, the
Wealthy and powerful rarely write great
Novels or paint great pictures or make
Wonderful objects of grace and beauty,
Invent the things that improve the world.
Instead they keep destroying everything they can
In the false name if their self-serving propaganda.
When they say God they mean the DEVIL.
And this is as it is, for our lives are not for
Convenience or safety or luxury or ease.
We are here to understand and be tested,
For in death we will KNOW fully what
We have done and who we were
In her eyes, and she is as
Tough as they come.
Imagine sparring the
Devil for eternity.
So I can only pity
Those who are in such denial
And such deep unhappiness.
Because if you are really wealthy
You will never know who loves you,
And maybe that is why they have
Turned away from love into
Blind greed, the endless
More.
And I will hold the hard thin wheel again,
I will charge across my country again,
Now I am free from worry about
Others. I know who loves me,
And that knowledge transcends
Everything Earthly.
That a life will be spent gaining inches,
When this distance is read in miles.
When this distance is read in miles.
Re: Hobo Jungle
And we wonder why Jesus was NAILED to a ****** cross that he carried for miles.
That a life will be spent gaining inches,
When this distance is read in miles.
When this distance is read in miles.
-
Rufus T. Firefly
- Posts: 41330
- Joined: Wed May 16, 2007 6:52 am
- Location: Departed from this forum
Re: Hobo Jungle
God wants goodness
God wants light
God wants mayhem
God wants a clean fight
What God wants God gets
Don't look so surprised
It's only dogma
The alien prophet cried
The beetle and the springbok
Took the bible from its hook
The monkey in the corner
Wrote the lesson in his book
What God wants God gets God help us all
God wants peace
God wants war
God wants famine
God wants chain stories
What God wants God gets
God wants sedition
God wants sex
God wants freedom
God wants semtex
What God wants God gets
Don't look so surprised
I'm only joking
The alien comic cried
The jackass and hyena
Took the feather from its book
The monkey in the corner
Wrote the joke down his book
What God wants God gets
God wants boarders
God wants crack
God wants rainfall
God wants wetbacks
What God wants God gets
God wants voodoo
God wants shrines
God wants law
God wants organised crime
God wants crusade
God wants jihad
God wants good
God wants bad
What God wants God gets
Roger Waters
God wants light
God wants mayhem
God wants a clean fight
What God wants God gets
Don't look so surprised
It's only dogma
The alien prophet cried
The beetle and the springbok
Took the bible from its hook
The monkey in the corner
Wrote the lesson in his book
What God wants God gets God help us all
God wants peace
God wants war
God wants famine
God wants chain stories
What God wants God gets
God wants sedition
God wants sex
God wants freedom
God wants semtex
What God wants God gets
Don't look so surprised
I'm only joking
The alien comic cried
The jackass and hyena
Took the feather from its book
The monkey in the corner
Wrote the joke down his book
What God wants God gets
God wants boarders
God wants crack
God wants rainfall
God wants wetbacks
What God wants God gets
God wants voodoo
God wants shrines
God wants law
God wants organised crime
God wants crusade
God wants jihad
God wants good
God wants bad
What God wants God gets
Roger Waters
Conservatism: The intense fear that somewhere, somehow, someone you think is inferior is being treated as your equal.
Re: Hobo Jungle
Tramp asked me to share this with you fellow hobos!!! 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GewMX2kqmHI&sns=em
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GewMX2kqmHI&sns=em
Running that red block Charlie.
Re: Hobo Jungle
Rufus, if you switched the world God for Devil, you might have a poem. It isn't God that rules all this shite, it is the DEVIL who is great at pretending to be GOD.
Murph, why you would think anything I wrote was directed at you is simply beyond me. I've always found you a gentleman and I thought of you as a friend. Now I must wonder . . .
Robert, liked your poem. As the person who recorded the highest blood pressure ever without stroke or death, I hear you! Apparently my arteries have always been way too narrow. Thus the ever-present frozen feet! At least my MRI only showed one minor tumor and a brain covered in Lyme scars. Nothing to worry a Protestant Irishman. Nothing a few beers and a good bottle of Scotch won't fix.
Murph, why you would think anything I wrote was directed at you is simply beyond me. I've always found you a gentleman and I thought of you as a friend. Now I must wonder . . .
Robert, liked your poem. As the person who recorded the highest blood pressure ever without stroke or death, I hear you! Apparently my arteries have always been way too narrow. Thus the ever-present frozen feet! At least my MRI only showed one minor tumor and a brain covered in Lyme scars. Nothing to worry a Protestant Irishman. Nothing a few beers and a good bottle of Scotch won't fix.
Last edited by Tramp on Mon Aug 28, 2017 10:37 am, edited 1 time in total.
That a life will be spent gaining inches,
When this distance is read in miles.
When this distance is read in miles.
-
Rufus T. Firefly
- Posts: 41330
- Joined: Wed May 16, 2007 6:52 am
- Location: Departed from this forum
Re: Hobo Jungle
Tramp wrote:Rufus, if you switched the world God for Devil, you might have a poem. It isn't God that rules all this shite, it is the DEVIL who is great at pretending to be GOD.
They are aspects of the same folly.......called humanity.
Conservatism: The intense fear that somewhere, somehow, someone you think is inferior is being treated as your equal.
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