Night crossings

Crossing wooden trestle bridges in the darkest night
Dull lit windows in carriages passing by
He mourned his mother’s passing
As the music trickled from his veins
Writing scores and arrangements

While each night fades between miles
His lying awake as muted brass and wood
Fill sounds to every new backdrop where
Awakes a new sun in lingering essence
Rattles of steel wheels on rolled forged rails

As they dance their monotony  beneath feet
Moving in a celebration of life, living and farewells
In each note as it follows one another, until
One by one each mute drops, falls against rolling
Floor boards from brass and wood, to sing

Dance, laughter, reminisces, filling each carriage
As they rattle to caressed rhythms and beats
Through mile after mile, once more beneath a
Blue sky and morning sun, Sharing his music
In his own dance to the passing of her time.

10 responses to “Night crossings

  1. Hi Sean, It has been a while since I have dropped by, as my blogging has been very hit and miss. This poem is so beautiful. I love the way you bring mourning full circle to that last line; life weaving in and out through music and dance as the train travels from night to sunrise. The poem is a symphony unto itself. You should be getting published. I could absolutely see this in The New Yorker.

    • Thanks, Robin, normally I’d not of written a poem so late and somewhere after midnight. I’d drifted off to sleep and woke to a jazz documentary discussing the passing of Duke Ellington’s mother and where he was when he received the news, and of what he started writing while in transit between one night gigs. The below is what he wrote and has four parts and goes for twelve minutes.

      The poem rough, was scratched out upon a torn envelope in a hazy few minutes as I listened to the documentary half asleep in a dim lit room.
      Currently sorting a collection of poems into some sort of resemblance to an order of worth. I’ve not read The New Yorker down here in the South Pacific, will take a look later. Once again thank you so much for commenting and sharing what you found of worth in the words and lines. Cheers!

      • That is a beautiful and emotional Ellington composition. I love learning the inspiration for a poem. I’m glad you took the time to write down your thoughts in the middle of the night. That makes the title of your poem even more meaningful, since you and Ellington both composed your related works in the middle of the night.

        The New Yorker is a highly regarded American magazine. Wikipedia has a decent article that has a good two paragraph summary of the magazine. Regarding poetry, I listen to the New Yorker’s poetry podcasts, which you can find for free on I-Tunes. I listen to them on a radio app called Tune-In Radio. The podcasts are short interviews with contemporary poets who read a poem by another poet, and then they read one of their own works, with a discussion of both.

        Good luck working your way through organizing your collection.


      • Thanks, Robin. I write when ever I can, or at least try to do as such.

        I’ll go have a read and listen to The New Yorker. Thanks, Robin.

        A first draft to Nine Worlds (poem collection) is with my editor at the moment and also just finishing up on a collection of five short stories (I’ll need to do the layout for these in the next couple of weeks)

  2. The poem is, I don’t know how to explain it well, like a tugging vibrato, it felt like it was recited to me in nature sounds, like I was standing outside and there was people talking to me,but I was completely unable to hear them, only the wind, the river, the mountain. The emotions are very strong and touching in your lines.

    • Thanks, Oloriel. Being in a dazed state while writing may of helped to encapsulate that particular aspect for someone reading the poem. I know loss takes me into those sort of places, their music and sounds to the extent I’m not/can’t listen or hear what people are saying around or near me, what is being said just does not seem to matter much to where my mind is at those moments in time. Thanks again for sharing your thoughts and where the poem found you while reading. Cheers!

  3. I liked reading about your inspiration almost as much as the poem, Sean! Apologies for being a little absent lately…life has a way of drawing us away, sometimes 🙂

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