I want to apologize, I grabbed the wrong version of this the other day, today was my first good day of connections for upload to fix the issue. One of these days I will learn patience at the finish of a poem, just enough to ensure I cut and paste the finished or current version not the first rough draft.
And now the semi-fixed version, with spell check mostly run, a few errors I am sure, but I am looking for input. I have yet to decide if this one should be a word beat, syllable beat or free verse version... and if anyone has any comments, feel free to leave them, or the shy can email me via my contact info tab:
From sidings, spurs and rebuilt mainlines
the ethereal trains gather them in
seeking the stations they once knew
when each ghostly block ran the steel
instead of gliding well above the rails
drawn to this place as their Purgatory.
Entering the yard old Engineers become lost
and spectral firemen push back their hats
scratching heads in utter confusion at switches
that have no arms to move and flags to see
just boxes lit up with colors and marks
This is nothing like their memories at all.
A bit deeper in, as the tracks begin to split
and the ghost trains each find a separate siding
within the skein of steel and creosote timbers
that are still the same but in places different
as some lines have ties of concrete not wood
over which vaporous gandy-dancers wonder.
Around them cars move as if by magic
no engines, drivers or others to be seen
leaving the echoes of men long gone
to feel this is truly Hell if no men work
amid the moving cars that dance by night
around the loops of still they came to.
Even the hump men seem confused
for there is no tower about to rule from
and the long building ahead with many doors
evokes faint stirs in some memories
of the roundhouses of the old days
as the cars enter the folding gates.
Bravest of the souls this night enter there
walking amid the modern repair facility
amazed to see the bodies lifted off some cars
revealing them as carriage and engines both
as some worry they have sinned mightily
and been sent to Trolley heaven not hell.
Then the repairs begin around them swiftly
as metal machines aid the mechanics that appear
and move about doing familiar things still
even to the point that the Brakeman pitches in
using the faint shadow of his oilcan here and there
like before his passing away when a bridge fell under him.
Some take comfort at the commotions around them
others try to speak with the few men on the floor
as porters and carmen now enter as well aboard cars
stunned at how Spartan the insides now are
wondering if the rail barons won and broke unions
leaving them behind for workers of steel not flesh.
The rattle of wrenches on metal bolts comes
but without the calls of men of flesh and sin
save the occasional words into hand held boxes
as the few corporeal beings move from spot to spot
as some ghosts nearly dissolve in rage or shock
to find women working amid the men without shame.
Convinced their sins have caught them at last
switching them to the spur for Hell's Gates
some take off hats to pray for forgiveness
while a few begin to wonder if its really hell
or some accountant's dream come to life
where men are replaced by soulless machines.
This is not the work or vehicles they remember
ones that raced on steel up built up a nation
though some things seem the same still
as brakemen marvel at the new compressors
and firemen see the centenary lines above
knowing steam lost the fight to Edison's light.
Come the dawn most are tattered by sunrise
the light shredding them like smoke in a breeze
sending them back to graves to lay in wait
for the next new moon to rise and roam again
never remembering this terrible night at all
but relive it in every bit and piece as punishment.
But some hold together under the light of day
taking up old positions even if abandoned by flesh
as the cars head out about the town on rounds
and ghostly forms move like faint shadows
like the conductor on the first block out the yard
who walks aisles, checking for that purchased ticket.
(12/4/2011 -Dyfedd Rex)
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