Express? NaPoWriMo: Day 13

There it is,

Ticking, temporarily settled;

Longer than the platform.

Beckoning, sighing, impatient

To be flying the rails again:

Locomotive to the right,

Atop the bridge:

The home of the power,

The place all motion begins

(The capital, driving, letter

In a back-to-front sentence).

The coaches line up,

And there is the calaboose.

Me? I am reflected in

Carriage windows;

Surprised because

I was beginning to think

I’d missed all of these chances,

Journeys, risks…

.. and reflections work two ways,

So, as she steams onwards, outwards,

Am I on the seat, leaving,

Looking at the platform?

Or on the platform,

Left behind, doubting

Again?

Red, Of Course.

Three full-on winter days

On the cold-wind, monotony yard

Feeding cold blue flames

With colder fuels.

Need to check out

My situation,

My options …

Heading down the grey brick road

Heading to red sunset salvation dreams:

A place in the lottery queue;

Chance to compare journeys, calendars, champions, clocks;

Chance to find pattern and rhyme in random lines and concrete blocks.

Breathe shiver-deep, consider the numbers and companions that

Got us here, the histories that come together now –

In these magical moments …

Sometimes in order to see ahead more clearly

We have to look, hard and long over shoulders:

Chance of a ticket to be there

When we get to face the glory trials,

Stand on the way that other followers have stood

Ready to paint the next steps: red of course!

To Dance With Clowns

“Strange,” he thinks, quietly to himself,

Climbing the suddenly-too-steep staircase,

“Strange how the world turns

Around a moment in a relationship” :

For earlier, he watched love shade

Change to pity then full-blast ranting hatred.

“Strange, ” he cannot stop thinking now

That he’s started …

“The world is turning around this latest demand”.

He means the single white pill, so tinily perfect –

Balanced like an equation-to-be

In the bowl of a silver spoon.

Reflections come, twist, haunt  and pass on.

Quiet desert fire isolation,

Wild, decibel-loaded parties,

Southern belt skies, dreams of

Oaks and queens and

Better-when bad princesses,

White bannisters, warm apples,

Good company on journeys-far-from home.

Reaching the familiar-for-once carpeted landing

He pauses to rescue a breath, reminds himself:

“Those who choose to dance with clowns

Would do well to remember how quickly,

How well, how completely they recover from falls.”

 

7/4/2013