So our travels are over for another Summer. We’ve seen and wrote about many places. Today let’s celebrate the means of our travels. Pick a mode of transportation and write with that inspiration in mind. Sometimes, getting there is half the fun. Take us along however you go!
TRACKSIDE
She sits on the spur
with her smoke stack puffing
as she chokes back the steam.
A water stop perhaps, or a stop
on an excursion to yesterday.
I used to stay at the edge of the field
yielding all my attention to the
mere mention of railroadiana.
And in the early evening dusk
the musk of bygone years
cheers you. You inhale deeply.
You’re as happy as can be!
Next Stop, Willoughby!
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So much for the senses to indulge in with this piece, Walt…I love the use of “musk.”
:)’s
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Agreed, and it fits. I remember the smell of those old steam engines, and somehow that odor remains when I think on the past, especially old train depots.
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Oh, I love the Willoughby mention. One of my all time top favs of TTZ
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That’s the image that came to mind when the steam train (pictured) was “sidetracked” across from my house. The blast of the whistle took me somewhere else in time. Not a Twilight Zone I DON’T like!
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You would love the Willoughby one. It was to a different time, a wonderful time.
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Let me re-phrase that, “There’s not a Twilight Zone episode I DON’T like. Loved them all! The Willoughby one stands out!
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Kayak
It’s a solo – glide
water ripples quietly
stirs silent lilies.
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2015
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Oh, this is perfect.
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I want to go kayaking.
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I do, too…it’s been a while and swift summer is slipping by…
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Lovely image
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Thank you, Debi!
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[…] Rising –PLANES AND BOATS AND CARS (AND TRAINS AND BIKES…)Pick a mode of transportation and write with that inspiration in […]
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Sunday Drive
singing in the back seat
of the old green Chevrolet
sisters learning songs
their mother loves
“Hey, Hey, Good Looking”
and “You Are My Sunshine”
as miles pass by
both hoping that Dad will stop
for ice cream
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Ah, yes; brings back memories of a 1952 Dodge.
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For me…the hope for the stop and ice cream is a real physical sensation…I remember that longing in the belly. Beautifully gathered, Candy!
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Brings back memories.
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Ah, for me it was a chocolate milkshake…. yum
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THE BLUE BUS
The big bus would run
between the cities
and always I’d look
for the roadside ditties.
Burma Shave.
NB: Walt may not be old enough to remember the Blue Bus, an intercity line that travelled mainly between Buffalo and Rochester, New York, USA, with a midway stop in Batavia, which was the home base of the line, as I recall. In the early 1950s I used to travel on that bus every summer, and the Burma Shave signs were still posted along roadsides. The signs originated in the U.S. midwestern states, I think, but by the 1930s they were ubiquitous. Those interested might like to review them at
http://burma-shave.org/jingles/
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Great way to bring a piece of fact to us, William! I enjoyed this. 🙂
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No Bill, sadly I don’t remember the Blue Bus. And yet I lament missing the Canadiana and the NYC 20th Century. Born a bit too late! Walt
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I was born in ’51 but I think I remember seeing one once on a trip, course it may have been a copycat, I’m not sure.
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A QUICK DUSTING
Plymouth Duster, powder blue,
why did I not hold onto you?
My first car, a hand me over,
but classic lines, a real mover.
Had I kept you I’d have painted
so your rep did not get tainted.
I had a plan to customize you,
but rust and primer would disguise you.
I held you for as long as able,
but your memory became a fable.
Yet today I wish I had you,
more than just a passing fad. You
gave me joy when I was a lad,
I wish it didn’t make me sad.
Oh Plymouth Duster, you were the best,
A part of you beats in my chest!
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Mine was a metallic green. I loved that car.
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I recall those cars, but I love this mainly for the rhyming, especially in the fourth stanza.
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Electric Biking through Victoria
At first a little bulky
A little confusing
A little scary
Give it a try.
Now for the ride.
Pedal along.
Time for the electric part.
Put it in gear.
Zip up the hill.
Past the tourists in horse-drawn wagons.
Past the shimmering lake at sunset.
Watch out peacock.
Feeling like a pro now.
Must give it back.
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You make that sound fun.
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Utterly nostalgic. Brings back images of lawn bowling.
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Flights of fancy
do not come with
an airsickness bag.
Keep your jet lag,
I hate to fly!
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BIG smile here.
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Boating on the Lake
We rented a pontoon on Claytor Lake
spent the day with kids and grandkids
meandering atop the glittery water
enjoying a lazy day as the kids jumped
from the side and swam and splashed
then yelled that it was time to tube.
Oh, my, what screaming and laughter
as they rode the bucking and twisting
beast but kept their grip till one big
surge tossed them, arm and legs thrashing,
into the warm, choppy waves with a
squeal of let’s do it again.
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For me, this well captures the sights and sounds of kids.
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WISHFUL THINKING
(a shadorma)
Summer sun
setting on humid
horizon ~
backdrop for
the little engine that could
bring you home to me.
2015-08-04
P. Wanken
I responded to this more as an ekphrastic prompt, using the image from your prompt. Thanks!
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Descartes Diesel: I am. Therefore I think I can, I think I can…
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For me, the title lends this a quiet melancholy. Lovely.
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Nice – and such longing in that last line
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A reprise from early 2013, my response to PB Prompt 109…it came to mind when I thought of planes…
TOMATOES AND TORNADOES
When our small plane took flight,
it was mid-afternoon,
but the sky looked like night.
Not long into the trip
we realized the danger,
the plane rolled and dipped,
setting off warning lights and bells.
Our pilot fought for control,
and our stomachs rose and fell.
My sister got sick
losing her lunch. I hadn’t eaten,
because I couldn’t pick
out all the chunky tomatoes.
It’s a good thing, because
they don’t go well with tornadoes.
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Delightful, even given the tension it develops.
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Oh my, no tOmatoes for me on my next flight! 😊
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Given that this prompt reminded me of my poem about travel sickness, yours resonates with me. Good one.
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RECALLING THE SANTA FE CHIEF
Across the land, on the land
and sometimes bridging vacant spaces,
the train would render rock and sand
as artistry in humble places
and often offered us new graces
that made the mundane wide and grand
and took us, with expectant faces,
across the land, on the land.
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A nostalgic trip “across the land” on my chair.
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I love the “War Bonnet” in the Red, yellow and silver. Quite nostalgic.
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Best paint scheme a train ever had.
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“as artistry in humble places” – this makes me want to take this trip … as the others have said, pure nostalgia.
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Time Zoned Out
There once was a man on a train
Who traveled across the great plains
He consulted his watch
While sipping a scotch
Were the hours a loss or a gain?
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Hmmmm… a bit of thought there; could apply to more than just time zones. Wonderful.
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Living where I live (western Canada) – compared to most of the rest of the poets I write with … I can really relate to this…
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☺️
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LEAVING OZ
OMAHA STATE FAIR
emblazoned on the side,
quite a ride across time zones
and the “no place like home”
destination seems eons away.
To say this was your preferred mode
would be a misnomer! Requiring
more wind than an overbearing
and pompous Wizard could provide.
You pride yourself on being headstrong,
but you’d be wrong to say you harbored
no reservations. Leaving three behind
to find your way back, a sad fact is
they’ll remain on your mind and
in your heart, and if you had the courage
to start this journey you might just find
they’ll never leave you the way you have
left them. The journey’s end.
You’re not in oz anymore!
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This conjurs up so much wistfulness and adventure too. You’re certainly not in Oz anymore.
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Elegant Express
In the rich wooden
parlor cars, curtained
in red velvet, I dine
on fine china, drink
from crystal goblets.
At times travel is delayed
by weather, a small hitch
easily assuaged by scenery
of mountains and seas.
Stops occur in exotic places,
and you say goodbye
to faces that have become
familiar. From Paris
to Istanbul, the Orient
Express is the finest
way to travel.
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It certainly differs from Amtrak, the way you describe it.
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Yes, this has always appealed to me. Not sure we’ll ever make it, but hope to for sure.
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SOARING SILVER
Every time it is the same thing
I am calm to the point of trance-like
No longer needing actual medication
I have learned various methods
of self-talk and the like to quiet
my racing thoughts and my heartbeats
And sit, buckled in properly, studying
the emergency info with real attention
But still not panicked, noting escape
routes, the tiny lights that will illuminate
same should such an unlikely event
occur – the need to escape that is …
We are backing out of the hangar
area and taxiing out to the runway.
The captain is saying soothing things
in two languages – it’s Canada after all.
The flight attendants are going through
their puppet show with oxygen masks
and seats as flotation devices, etc.
When suddenly the captain tells them
abruptly to sit and buckle up: we have
clearance and the plane swivels—
As they say—on a dime—and I can feel
the engines fire up – all the thrusters
or whatever they are pushed forward
ready for take-off and, I am awash
in sweat, my heart’s thudding.
There is no way this massive solid
object is going to be able to resist
gravity’s pull – there is no way!
Belief is only a comfort of earth
and upward of earth, a reality so thin
the lungs cannot take it, and my
lungs are burning, gasping for air.
A kindly woman beside me holds
an open brown bag out, bids me
“Here dear,” she motions. “Put this
over your mouth and nose and breathe.”
I do what she instructs, close my eyes
“That’s it, just breathe deeply and
listen to the bag going in and out.”
Moments later, without any help
from me, we are silver soaring through
the atmosphere and I am amazed
and so thankful to the fates,
to this seatmate, to whomever
it is that allows this miracle to happen.
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