Thursday, June 24, 2010

Not a Train


It’s not a train you hear,
but the sound of gears

’neath an old gray hat,
across a chasm, grinding.

(first publication)


Updates:
“Not a Train” added to Poems, Slightly Used.

In the Forum: shake, rattle, and roll.

12 comments:

Wine and Words said...

Well William, those gears are still well greased...a locomotive than cannot be stopped!

Elisabeth said...

Not a train, but a brain, a well worn, well used, well oiled brain that leaps those chasms noiselessly.

Thanks, William.

William Michaelian said...

Metal on mettle, oil and trouble — thanks, Annie; thanks, Elisabeth.

nouvelles couleurs - vienna atelier said...

anche questo lascia libero alle interpretazioni

... for example imagine a wise old man, who is no longer a train, but with the age is like the crunch of gears, but he "’neath an old gray hat,
across a chasm, grinding"

I know maybe I'm crazy..

nouvelles couleurs - vienna atelier said...

ops

anche questo lascia libero alle interpretazioni =
This leaves us free to interpretation

:-)

William Michaelian said...

Yes, I already made sense of that....

Crazy in a good way, crazy in a way that’s familiar and makes me feel at home....

Laura, your interpretation is wonderful. And right now, at this very moment, here where I live, I can hear a train. The sound is drifting in from the east....

Janice said...

My imagination is whirring along right now with this drawing in my mind as I read your words above...

I see a grizzled old man in his faded overalls, his gray, dirty, frayed, engineer's cap at the helm of an old railroad push cart. His days as an engineer ended long ago but he needs to hear the sounds of the trains he grew to love. On an old, abandoned, piece of railroad track over a deep and narrow a ravine, he listens to the clickity, clack of rusty, iron wheels as he pumps the old push cart's lever and sails along in his memories of long ago...

William Michaelian said...

Janice, I love it. I’ve always liked those handcars. They’re like human wells on wheels, the driver slowly pumping his way across the landscape.....

Janice said...

Thank you William...I couldn't remember what they were called (my age is showing again) but I could see them in my head :)

all ways 11 o'clock said...

Still a well oiled wordsmith William.

~robert

Woman in a Window said...

Slowing
or speeding up?

We've a train across our street. It is a clock to us. It is our pulse, our veins. Wouldn't feel like living without it.

xo
erin

William Michaelian said...

Still well oiled, Robert, and yet strangely sober at this writing.

Trains make good clocks, Erin, but they’re hard to hang on the wall. A clock on a trestle comes to a halt just before it falls. The engineer winds it up, pushes the hat from his brow.