The Next Train to Eden
..... will be leaving All Reasonjust as soon as it's all clear...
But I'm too busy thinking
about poems and Cathedrals
and beaks and polished claws
tearing flesh from purpose.
And I hunt the heart that sees it
but vaguely sense I've lost it
to someone else's poem
to someone else's heart..
And this railway line that reaches
flows too much like a river.
And the race is surely done, the heart is surely gone
but the train is waiting on, the train is waiting on
Our poems all approximate
A reaching for and rising
To those great cathedrals closing
On the echoes of our truths,
and we build them
and we build them
We inch and edge towards them
O'er the tempting bridgeless gulf
Or paint and paint and paint
to bridge it but in vain
'Til the heart is surely worn, the heart is surely gone
But the train is waiting on, the train is waiting on
And all these dried out sorcerers
with their ladders of technique
throw and throw and throw them
as if they'll take us closer;
like the mariner who learns
every rock and every bell
and every flashing nuance
of nautical detail
and in the end he knows the sea
like a dog might know Vermeer.
And their beaks and claws are on.. the heart that's surely worn
while the train is waiting on, the train is waiting on
I've read them through,
and through them blew
the pointless winds of Mars
on the trail of thin rewards
whittled crisp from hearts
in their cloisters in the sky
where heart is out of fashion
leaving reason like a canyon
and knowledge knowing nothing
can never hold dominion
For revelation comes when they're turning down their thumbs
their beaks and claws upon the signature that runs
to catch the train that waits, that's surely waiting on
and seeing what we've done, all the stars are on the run
All the stars are on the run
but a poem like Atlantis
calls us to the station
for this one time only train
and though worldliness from shadows
casts its nets upon the waters
the creaking wheels are turning
the Eden seal is burning;
and all of science watches
as the clocks are rushing on;
and as vanity shouts proudly
'I can't afford the fare'.
the whistle's blowing loudly
and there's fighting at the gate
For the waiting train is gone, the waiting train is gone
where tomorrows aren't numbered, where the walking wounded run,
where passports won't be checked, where every curse is blessed
Yes the homebound train is gone where the Eden river runs
And still I'm standing here,
weighing pros and cons
28 03 08
Poetry by jim hogg
Read 547 times
Written on 2008-12-31 at 17:07
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