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Saturday, February 14, 2015


Here are three haiku composed by Stevenson all three are about trains and I (Kristjaan Panneman) have tried to organize them to a little story:

the train picks up speed,
in a paper coffee cup
concentric waves

the river always
out there in the dark
late train home

coming home
on the train
... the backyards

(c) John Stevenson

under the full moon
the screech of a steam engine -
cherry blossoms shiver
© Chèvrefeuille

In the blackland prairies of north Texas there were not many trees or hills to stop sounds.  Train whistles sounded quite mournful and lonely from a distance.  I would lie in bed and wonder about the trains.  Where were they going?  Where had they been?  Would I ever have the opportunity to ride one of the trains?  Then the whistle would blow one more time its distant cry.

In my teen years my parents moved 'to town'.  The town had only about 650 people.  The community lay on either side of the rail road tracks with no home being more than maybe half a mile from the tracks.  The closer proximity to the tracks gave a different sound to the train whistles.  Loud and startling as they were meant to be.  A sound of warning.  Pretty jarring in the middle of a summer night when all the windows were open.

Those tracks are seldom used these days.  Train depots are vet clinics, tea rooms or novelty museums.  Few whistles to startle.  Fewer still with that lonesome cry.

new lands ahead
family tensely climbs aboard
train whistles goodbye
©  Janice Adcock

Thanks to Chèvrefeuille for daily prompts on 


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