Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋

The Iron Rail

Nestled in pants pockets,
heavenly-blue arrival pack to the brim.
Clutter of jilted ore pellets —
brilliant wonder matching a child's eyes.
The rough gems restrict a proud stride.

Grasshoppers flit, buzz like heat,
cutting humid silence. Pale-black,
yellow-tipped wings sail down smooth-worm,
rusted rail. Blistered feet, brown and nimble,
warm — navigate rail on fixed horizon.

No ticket needed for an adventure sought.
Distance from the platform protects him
from a lonely wail. Iron trail constructed
in a roaring era before grandpa died —
a timely train that no longer whistles.

Tracks quiver, Horns blares around the bend.
Red crossing signals flare, bells clang,
before the striped gate secures the path.
This locomotive will swiftly pass. Soon,
crickets darken scene that means home.



7.4.21

For July — Stormy Poetry Newsletter

still trying ▼

Didn't have to resort to traditional rhyming poetry. Hopefully, Iva is up there watching over? Inspired by her contest long ago. No show with three entries.