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Post by carousal on Aug 9, 2009 17:04:26 GMT -5
Slow Train
Soured smell of sodden clothing Heated by re-cycled air Imprisoned strangers sway together Under the fly blown bulb light glare ~ An over perfumed saddened female Holding back the passing years A cardboard king of a hardboard office Who washed his lust in young girls tears ~ Picking up speed through Rainbow cutting Quickening the rhythm of wheel on rail Rattling speed through Coulsden woodlands To reach the stop at Maidenvale ~ He rests his head on the cold paned window A comfort zone, a place to hide He stares through the raindrop spittle At the winter sleeping countryside ~ His past life packed in a plastic bag His guilt stowed in his mind Searching for a new beginning Leaving a spent love far behind ~ He conjures up a memory picture Soon, just around the bend Her liquid trusting eyes are waiting Waiting at the journeys end
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Post by Max on Aug 9, 2009 20:31:57 GMT -5
This read to me much like a music video or a scene in a film. My friend, you are a fantastic storyteller and you paint a scene as well as any poet. I'm becoming quite a fan of your work, can't wait to read more.
-Max
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Post by Artemis on Aug 12, 2009 7:33:30 GMT -5
Great story telling, sad descriptive and a really good read. I enjoyed this imagery and could smell and see the passing scenes of peoples lives and their surroundings, well penned Cari, K xxx
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Post by Harklight on Aug 13, 2009 17:15:51 GMT -5
That sounds like a regular train but painted in your perceptive style, Cari. First two lines were enough to catch my attention (I know that smell) and you held me all through. Stanzas 4 and 5, exploring "his" escape, are sad. Fantastic story-telling. H x
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