Poetry Break #6

DOW JONES DEATH SPIRAL WATCH:

Another down day for the DOW. It has been going up and down for weeks now. It’s gonna crash, it’s only a matter of when…

Index Value:	13,305.47
Trade Time:	Sept. 5, 2007
Change:	143.39 (1.07%)

Yeah, another damn poetry break…

 

Finger Bullet Utica, NY

 

Here I sit in a booth

Writing some’a my crap poetry

 

Alone though surrounded by people

As usual

 

 

My gin and tonic half empty

Or perhaps half full

 

My memories of younger nights

Spent here in the late eighties

Sweetened by a sentimental light

 

This is heightened by the joy

Of watching the latest generation

Of bulleteers fly about the room

 

Ricocheting off one Another

Via singles Ballistics

 

It’s fun to guess which round will

Collide and fuse with which

 

To become a singular projectile following

The probability curve of romance

 

To be for fleeting moments, or perhaps years

Relationship missiles

 

Traveling who knows where?

 

Then back to the finger bullet

For another round!

 

 

 

6721 Utica, NY

 

She sits cold and black now in a sleep of sentimental display

Her former energy missing from lack of coal or timber

Her run around days long gone replaced by her present idle spot

A rusted right of way crossing ,but what of her former speedy glory?

 

 

She was born at the beginning of last century

She now sits as a testament to the past here at the beginning of the Twenty first

 

In her day she WAS the fast lane trailing pullmans or perhaps boxcars

She came and went in great puffs of self-made cumulus nimbus

How many lovers stole a last kiss to shouts of ALL ABOARD!

How many young romantics boarded her never to return from over there?

How many grandparents awaited the arrival of their new mother, daughters?

How many farewells or welcome homes were waved as 6721 passed the platform

 

She smelled of steam and burning fuel

Her hearth fires stoked by burly men forged of the same metal as she

In the dining car the whiff of chicken and biscuits mixed with the smell of new leather luggage

Her sounds were loud and many a claxon Beat, a clanking, rattling, CACOPHANY

Her sweetest sound by far was WOOOooooooo WOOOOOOooooooo

 

How many a young child awaited that Glorious sound only to point in big eyed joy

To proclaim CHOO-CHOO MOMMY!

Although she sits still and silent now upon a visit to her place

You may still feel her presence as well, you may see a fleeting glimpse of our past and our future

For embodied in this well loved behemoth sits the hope of progress from an earlier innocent age

 

As we live in a time of technological sophistication barely dreamed of by her makers

A question lingers in my mind

Will people not yet born a hundred years hence

Look at our pickup trucks and SUV’s with such inspiration?

 

All this and more will 6721 give us come her Two hundredth birthday and beyond

 

SHOULD WE DECIDE TO KEEP HER WELL!

A LESSON FROM THE PAST ,INTO THE FUTURE

 

A Two Dimensional Image,

Well After The Eagle Had Landed

 

I remember being shocked

that I couldn’t see madagascar

As I would in an atlas or on a globe

 

Instead I saw a mixture of white and blue

The colors dancing in a lovely swirl

 

 

The moonscape foreground

an interesting contrast

As was the surprisingly Starless

Deep black of surrounding space

 

How odd to see

From the perspective of a man

As far away as any human has been

 

The most profound view of our

Earthly home that I have ever seen

 

I wondered how he felt

Weighing one fifth normal

Viewing gaia rise over the sea of tranquility

 

I’ve held that photo in memory these three decades

And still I long to stand

 

 

Suited against the airless cold of luna

To watch our azure agate

Float above a crater’s rim

 

 

I’d then add to the remembered

The third dimension of personal experience

The telepathic crickets really dig the moon one…

The scientifically impossible I do right away

The spiritually miraculous takes a bit longer

 

 

~ by ClapSo on September 5, 2007.