rails defunct
rails defunct
shattered slats,
spikestrewn parachutes.
failing to halt freefall,
fools' goldrush come full circle.
subtropical stop along the tracks
where native spirits flourished
and laughed behind tan settlers' backs.
fast-forward fifty years:
no pipe of peace, no headress ghast
but industry in iron earnest.
sharp worlds have mingled,
made offspring of deciduous decades
that grow hale and feeble-striped
by the spoke of wayward stars.
a visit—fleeting, poignant
to the veins that fed this place:
a photograph of fancies
and dreams that met their fate.
.
poem and photos
by @d-pend
11/14/18
.
Nothing sadder than seeing a promising technological device/facility left abandoned, being devoured by the elements. I saw the post some days ago and yesterday I went around town taking some pictures of places that transmit a similar feeling. I’ll work on a post about that.
As I commented on other railroad-related poems, railroads impress me as one hell of an invention. It spread across the countries with such power and determination; it did not respect limits, natural barriers, cultures, lives. It just imposed its will and to see a piece of that puzzle in shatters, in ruins is quite an impression. It’s like looking at an old decrepit dictator, unable to muster his old power. Nothing last forever, that’s a sure thing.
Two historical images lay out the road for the interpretation of the poem: the scattered parachutes and the fools’ gold rush. Both convey images of destruction, of territorial invasion that have “come full circle.”
This image is further magnified by the following lines:
The holocaust is detached from its boisterous irreversibility by the rather positive view of it as a “flourishing of the native spirits” laughing at the white man’s arrogance and audacity. Of course we can read it as a past flourishing, the one stopped by white men’s predatory ambition and the laughter reflects then the natives’ naiveté at ignoring the power of the paled-face.
“no pipe of peace” was honored, no contract signed was respected. No BIA compensatory measures could fix the Trail of Tears, the Wounded Knees, or the ever shrinking reservations.
Like a curse to vindicate past injustices, the dilapidated railroads seem to epitomize the dead body of past aggressors, the unfulfilled promises made to white and colored alike.
"Rails defunct" speak to me of truncated roads, of expired dates for the undertakings, for progress. The path of dreams has stopped. The known way has worn away from so much use and abuse:
The old routes to promising future destinations have been abandoned. The rails denounce wear and tear: uncertain future.
The voice comes out of the reverie and declares that the view of the place that once promised dreams now causes him melancholy and his spirit unites with the worn environment causing conflicting feelings between pride of belonging and memories of the past or childhood in contrast to the current abandonment and the status quo.
The images are spectacular and reinforce the history of the poem.
@d-pend sir!
Time decays everything,telling these wooden rails defunct.path of Glory leads to but in dust.this is the essence of life.beautiful photography of broken spilt of rail's wood.nice original photography as well as poetry.
Hi certain! Thanks for stopping by and I'm glad you enjoyed the images of the old railroad in my hometown.
Sad statement of expansion, destructions, and abandonment. Nicely written.
the poem is nice but the last closing lines are steller you seem to have closing line juju of late
Wow, this is poem is simple yet quite intense, but I think from the title I can deduct it's origin. Simply amazing
Thank you for being here for me, so I can be here for you.
Enjoy your day and stay creative!
Botty loves you. <3
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