Allen Singer: Ramblings

Steel ribbon rails, splintered wooden cross ties,
Old rolling stock side tracked behind coal dust mounds.
Many years I’ve traveled, sometimes just rambling,
Trying to climb Big Rock Candy Mountain,
Many rough days, sitting in darkness, really alone,
Romantic tales and hobos’ wild stories, all told together,
Taking my last train ride, I’m going westward.

One day, any day, whistle woke me in the dark, calling me to take my long ride home.
Deeper into the tunnel, ghosts touched my heart, tears rolled down my face, why must I roam?
A voice sang an echoing tune in that magic moment,
“You’ll never know the answer unless you ride on.”
Romantic tales and hobos’ wild stories, all told together,
Taking my last train ride, I’m going westward.

Climbing a switchback over life’s many mountains,
Old towns, sage brush covered memories,
Closed tunnels on a cross tied railway,
Old stations, old ticket takers, boxcars, hotels,
Signs I painted for a meal to eat.
Empty rail yards, jungle camps, highways,
I’m old rolling stock on my last roam.
Romantic tales and hobos’ wild stories, all told together,
Taking my last train ride, I’m going westward.

© ALLEN SINGER 2008

An old lumberjack sat, hemlock in cup,
Hidden by sassafras tea,
Sitting stumped
In new growth forest,
Many saplings bent
Under expectations,
Green thumb gone,
Redwoods weeping,
Crows flying,
Willows bent,
Songbirds sang in minor keys,
Ancestors passed away, old fossils themselves,
Remembering flocks of T-Rex, mastodons, walking fish, medicine plants, Rain falling, running streams, dried now,
Old secrets,
Not yet, not known, not heard, not really, not important, not yet.
Lumberjack, axeman, tree taker,
Bleeding the bark in a hemorrhaging forest,
Waiting, dying, gone,
Lumberjacks, old men,
No new trees.

Allen Singer (c) 2006

Where are all the poets?
Who jumped stop signs,
Lit those fires,
Broke closed windows,
Ran through open snake pits,
Ate crow,
Screwed around, their third eye ajar,
Practicing detours, swimming among leeches,
Dried in smoke houses,
Feeding on carcasses of past poets,
Ones your mother always warned you about,
Smiled at death, pen out of ink,
Writing on empty,
Full of intellectual gas,
Unscrewed fact, crap, ego, thoughtlessness, romance, glee, evil, run down love, old blues, immature awakenings,
others’ thoughts, envy, no regret!
What is?
What for?
Oi vey, Jebu blues, Atheists, Sabbath electric candles, hair shirt itches,
Grandma’s home made bread,
Howling chindi, keepsakes, dry powder kegs, marked spots of invisible inked thoughts withdrawn, understated,
Yet there,
When will clarity be?
Visible the unvisited,
Opening the closed door,
Last breath, untaken,
Nuff said already!

Allen Singer © 2006