Writing currently takes a level of concentration I find difficult to accept; I start to write, the thoughts in my mind seem to flow until I open WordPress and begin to type. I cannot remember how to do paragraphs on my keyboard or where to enter the title. I cannot find the songs I want to play while I blog.
Somehow my mind remembers a typewriter better these days and I look for the return bar, I hit the key that says return knowing that somehow on this program and this keyboard its more difficult than that.
And I almost put it all away again and go to bed, early as always because the evenings darken the shadows and unravel the rememberings.
I know I am the baby here in my landlocked silver aged cruise. Meals are tasty and prepared by others, no longer do I seek out a away to get what I crave, be it food or adventure, but a way to crave what I get. Activities, friendliness and food all expertly tailored to us, the target audience, the great ship of senior and assisted living sailing around the iceberg of age and illness.
I’d rather not be doing this, but at least I am doing it someplace safe, someplace fun, surrounded by the love of friends and family.
However, a year ago I was still working my last week as a nurse, not ignorant of how fragile life is, and not unfamiliar with stormy life seas, but as FB keeps reminding me, ignorant of the iceberg in my path.
Maybe I’m fiddling on the Titanic, however it’s still truly a wonderful world.
Arms stretched to heaven
Cactus dance in yellowed plain
Praying for more rain.
Hate is the terror that follows me
Vituperative words the clothing of that
Second shadow that all the meds or therapy cannot sever
It crouches ever on my heels, small in the noon day sun of reality.
A shade more deadly but less sympathetic than my fleshy cancer,
Waiting for the evening creep of media reports,
Well-intentioned Awareness campaigns,
Inadvertent closure of an exit with any other in the room,
The uncontrolled and frequent contact in a crowd;
The memories’ setting sun swell it’s size and power
Till panic swallows my hard won peace of mind.
Pirroettes free from her branch
Dancing to her death.
The words and memories speed
like landscape past the coachcar window.
My monkey mind scrambles and chases
catching only wind and wave
Until I breathe in
Find peace in this new
Where I do not know.
Middle class affluence always looks the same
The bullseye symbol of suburban prosperity
Restaurants with barber pole motif
A giant yellow M
From sea to shining sea the chains stretch
linking those who have it all to what they will need next.
So I will be posting the next two poems for my 31 in 31 later, but for now I am just going to try and post a blog about my ride on this magic carpet made of steel.
The most important thing I have learned is to love America’s Native Son even more than I did before the trip. Best movie I’ve ever streamed has passed by this windows. All my views have justified my lifetime love of trains,
The food is tasty, most people swear by the Train French Toast, it was good, but Iam stuck on their continental breakfast with oatmeal and berries for breakfast, a square croissant for midmorning coffee and later a yogurt snack. All three of my Hobbit breakfasts (1st, 2nd and elevensees for under 10$ when I am in Coach and delivered free in 1st class (except the tip). Dinners are presented as pretty as the food is delicious. My favorites are the tender and perfectly seasoned Southwest Chicken Breast and their vegetarian plate.
As to my beverages on the train, just say choices are many and their best quality, including coffee (sigh) is, well, they are ample.
Train travelis comfortable! The reclining coach seats are wide enough for my fluffy butt and I sleep pretty well there, the bed in the sleeper car is like being rocked gently in Momma Earths arms.
Overall the service has been excellent, and fellow passengers, both local and international, are friendly and kind.
Crowfae says when its all about the destination, fly; but once or twice in your life, slow down and make it about the journey and take the train.
Thoughts while waiting
I keep the TV off at home
Sheltering from Hurricanes, mass shooting, hateful raves of small and disrespectful men debating lives they wish to rule
choose not to understand.
We are what we consume, and the news will infiltrate my dreams, squelch my natural courage and compassion.
So I shelter my soul beneath chosen silence.
The TV in the station is perpetually on,
I drown in repetitive fear and hype
even through the barrier of music and my earphones
spewing from Fox on one side
Across from CNN.
No escape for those who wait.
My adrenaline levels
long for legs that always work when I will them.
No shelter in this culture of fear
I wait to evacuate.
Haiku for Evans Georgia: October afternoon
Sky in unique blue
Fishcrows seek the juicy frog
Calm before fall storms.
This place I learn, was once called Frogpond
Until Mr. Thomson brought the train right through town
No presumption of progress or high ideas of culture then, just crops and sweat and slavery’s shadow.
Then money road in on the railroads back
And changed all that.
Bustling bank managers and lofty tradesman
Dressed their pale wives in diamonds and paid their pennies to hear Blind Willy sing the blues.
But progress took it’s dollars back
as century turned again, freeways failed to follow track.
Main street storefronts stare vacantly at empty sidewalks.
And only the shadows are the same with the harsh demarcation of white and black.