Thursday, 25 July 2019

passage to eventide

softly ... from far away ... the sound
of train on track ... rattles across the first bridge 

it is the hour of the passage back to eventide

the clatter of locomotion ... briefly pauses ...
in the shift ... from focused occupation
to the slowing of pursuit

the muses are most apt to climb aboard then
and are arrayed ... in a plethora of ever changing shades ...
I never know what they'll shake loose

in the whirling clickety-clack ... as the train
barrels down that … old old end-of-day fast track

 … to … the last bridge along those rails ...
and so begins the curl that wraps
round a deep, enduring, visceral exhale

... the sum of strung together vestige breezes ...

of the odysseys … to nowhere
of good journeys spent  to get there
on and under ancient bridges
in the tune of whistling byways ...

to wait and see at boarding stations
 and embark to follow lost trails ...
courses that came to naught
yet find me still

… the sum of strung together vestige breezes ...

that stir and light the way … on the passage
to the near and far that comes at end-of-day

photo/graphic: passage to eventide - W. Bourke

© 2019 Wendy Bourke 

16 comments:

  1. In this poem I read a journey of a lifetime, I think.....going across those bridges...the clickety clack of the years of life. It's a one-way journey, this odyssey to get to nowhere. But one doesn't realize this when one is on the way!!

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  2. train journeys do stir the muse.. I keep finding myself writing about them.. even metaphorically... love the "sum of strung together vestige breezes"....

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  3. Wendy, this is so beautiful. I could hear the clickety-clack across all the miles. I remember when my mother would put me on the train alone in Vancouver to send me to my grandma's for the summer in Kelowna. She would give the porter five dollars to watch out for me. I would love a train ride now.

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  4. Your poem brought back to me any number of evening train rides home, Wendy. Would you like to share it on my weekend mini challenge over at the Imaginary Garden? It fits the prompt perfectly, being about ‘the hour of the passage back to eventide’. I especially love the sounds of the train, which do not intrude on the beauty of the piece but add a gentle soundtrack.

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    1. Hi Kim. I'm afraid I didn't have much luck finding the challenge … though Sunday is my day of interruptio and this particular Sunday being a scorcher (and our apartment having a nice outdoor pool) family 'stopovers' were even more the case, than usual. I will have another look and see if I can hook up with the postings, later this week. It sounds interesting.

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    2. I'm glad you found it after all, Wendy!

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  5. I felt as if I was on that train with you - superbly told

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  6. What is it about those transition times, like twilight and dawn, that draws our muses in so? I loved that you used a train for this metaphor. Travel itself is an in-between state.

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  7. This is so reminiscent for me having used trains to travel in for many years (as I was employed by them) so train journey was often to only mode available). Thinking back I quite miss those years! Thanks for the memory!

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  8. Ooooh, this was like a hymn of... almost getting lost, of going out to gather stories already unraveling like old socks...in a place of little to no public transportation, trains are mythic. :)

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  9. Such strong imagery. The last few lines, in particular, kept me looking, processing, seeing beyond what was there "... the sum of strung together..." painted a picture in my head of too many people, in a very small space, perhaps wanting to escape... into that last stanza.

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  10. This is wonderfully serene and tranquil, Wendy!💜 I especially love and resonate with "the muses are most apt to climb aboard then and are arrayed ... in a plethora of ever changing shades."😊

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  11. I love this. "the muses are most apt to climb aboard then" - waiting for our guides down those lost trails. A wonderful trip.

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  12. I love train travel, and enjoyed your journey here on many levels.,

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  13. I have long had a love affair with trains, nothing better than the wail of the whistle as night becomes morn ... your poem reinforced my feelings! Thank you.

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  14. Evocative and beautiful poem.

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