Ashland 2018 Train Day

Miss Izzy B. Crumpett will come out to play
In her usual beautiful, most wonderful way—
To see all those trains from the south and then the north,
Ashland Train Day, you see, will again be holding forth.

Miss Izzy B. Crumpett has gotten the word—
2018 Train Day is to be on November the Third.
Record crowds are coming, be safe when you park,
Then try to catch COTU, Tender & Cinder, or Ken and Leroy, before it gets dark!

Miss Izzy B. Crumpett will have an exciting time
[Even if I cannot get it in all to properly rhyme].
Visit all the vendors, stores, and the Ironhorse Café,
I’m pretty sure y’all will have a most splendiferous day!

And take LOTS and LOTS of pictures of them trains on the CSX gauge—
We’ll love to see them posted on Virtual Railfan’s Lounge Facebook page!

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Just A Summer Storm

It’s just another forgettable Summer storm;
Let’s stay inside where it’s safe and warm;
We’ll have another coffee and sit a spell;
Our Angels are about to keep us safe from harm.
OH! The old tree fell in the backyard!
While the rain pelts down so very hard;
Windows are all closed, it’s just as well—
Happy to be high and dry is this simple bard.
MY! How the lightning FLASHES and CRASHES so!
Outside, right about now, is where I’d rather not go;
But things are getting better, you can sure tell—
Those high winds seem to be blowing a bit more slow.
It is just another Summer storm that’s just passing on thru—
See ya tomorrow when again it’s sunny and our skies returned blue.

Transylvania

Yay hooray
Achieved intoxication
Sorta kinda in-home vacation
Stay home, don’t alive
Avoid tickets and all that kinda jive
Thursday night
A faux start weekend
What will the future subtend?
Muscles, tendons
Fascia in full alarm
Tho’ never meant you no harm
Need a haircut
And a full-time occupation
Please a reprise in a better situation
Breathing in
My book arrives from Amazon
Still here, tho’ rather’d be gone
A wonderful moment
Aspirin and merlot do attest
Brunettes t’embrasse really are the best
Yay hooray
Encountered Beatlemania
But there are still no vampires in Transylvania

A Mother’s Day 2018

A glass, a slice, and a red rose,
Loving items that I can propose
That we share with the ones we love,
Whether still with us or gone above.
A day, a night, and a dawning;
I apologize for all this fawning,
But you make the day worth doing
And the long drive coming home and pursuing
The heart that beats also as well for me
Even if I’m not all that deep or even worthy;
Any hug or kiss or quick embrace,
Here, or really any old place,
Though now the cat meows impatient for attention
But wait, did I share with you my intention—
To find new ways to love you every day
Come rains or storms or what changes may
Turn the page like a Masterpiece plot surprise,
I will forever seek myself in your kind eyes,
And share no matter whatever calamity throws,
A glass, a slice, and a red rose.

Finally, Rain

Finally, rain,
Met by the delighted cackle of a neighbor’s babe.
Come Inside…Come Inside…Come Inside—
There’s no shelter ‘neath that old lawn astrolabe.

O, the fantastic turns of waves of rain,
While its grumble of thunder shakes our lives.
Hurry Home…Hurry Home…Hurry Home—
To your children, and husbands, and wives.

The trees bend and lift,
To catch every little thrown drop of rain.
Shut the Door…Shut the Door…Shut the door—
Before we soak the atrium again.

Tempest passed,
Yet the gutters riot run full still.
Ca Caw…Ca Caw…Ca Caw—
Calls from the elm at the top of the hill.

Maple Leaf Dance

Faraway from the witnessing sun,
Escaped away from reproving glances of dead roses never sent,
Once dared think our love might grow,
But crushed beneath small expectation to answer for a knee unbent.
Loose laced shoes carry old feet forward on,
Stumbling with a book of ill written rhyme to find you there—
Polite as always but with nothing to add.
Assaulting the ramparts of indifference, I wonder if or should I care.
A frisson of longing ever lingers—
Some memories of dancing in our Maple Leaf Bar;
Happily ever after slips from old fingers
While an indifferent Moon grandly outshines any old star.

Avec Toi

I miss walking Paris
I miss Washington DC
I really miss those nice things
You used to think about me
I really like my neighbor
Even if I don’t know her name
Such things can’t be helped
There’s no one left to blame
The cat wants to meow outside
He doesn’t care much for Amelie
He just likes chasing whatever
Presents far away from me
I loved a Nordic goddess
I danced at her only wedding
We reconnected somehow on Facebook
Now I must vacuum, Jack keeps on shedding
I have seen true beauty
And felt arid with bottomless pain
I cannot understand the darkness
Kathy sees in Ashland’s daily grain train
I want to return to New Orleans
And lure the regard of a new pretty head
But I just write small lines in Austin
Watching Amelie avec a glass of Fonseca instead

Painfully Pretty

So I saw painfully pretty
Humble all in Scrabble
Saw painfully pretty
Whip core a green crab apple
Saw painfully pretty
Even give Cupid a start
Saw my painfully pretty
Discard this one’s heart
And I saw my painfully pretty
Ignore me across the dark-red room
Then saw painfully pretty soaring away
Upon her souped-up witches’ broom
If you ever see this scorching painfully pretty
Count your change and remember there is a tomorrow
Because this Crescent City painfully pretty
Will steal you blind and leave you alone in sorrow

Author Of Quaint Cuteness

So he found his way into the next street bar—
So too many sunsets he’d watched on his own.
He spied an open seat next to suspicion;
He sat: the leatherette surrendered with a groan.
He’d read that other’s fine published work—
Smaller now, he slow-ordered a few subsequent reds;
An author of quaint cuteness in a virtual realm in rhyme;
The rest of his well-bought confidence littered in shreds.
Darkly he found finally his Feng shui front door;
Next time he promised himself to leave on the light.
What’s that cold tightness crawling up his arm?
Her glam memory long ago dimmed from all sight.
Jack meowed hard, his breakfast was kinda late—
The neighbor poured the proper measured morsels into the bowl.
Calls were made, tears will come later, most real, certainly—
The author of quaint cuteness in his virtual realm of howl.

Virtual Railfanning

I find myself caught in the mist between maybe and the maybe not,
With this shredded rudder and a jib which fails at its level best.
Is life always so testable? Please let it be multiple choice—
As fat fingers reach for another glass filled to its crest.

Now with passing rains that’ll never leave any trace,
We’re all a part of this same tired joke—
All of us punching the tattered line;
Whispering guffaws our parents wouldn’t have dared spoke.

Randomness lingers without offering any answers;
Hope smugly rises, then fades like a chimera.
There’s a late train passing thru Folkston—
COTU waves warm and deeply into the camera.

Passion calls bravely:
No one ought respond.
Remember the days of Doctor Who
And those wished-for nights with Amy Pond?

The poem yearns for some fulfilling reason;
Something clever, poignant, worthy of being read.
Ha! Good luck with all that—
I’m virtually going back to Ashland VA instead!