This, My Columbia

This, My Columbia
... The Columbia River

" Cosmos Cascading " (10x23)

" Cosmos Cascading " (10x23)
August, 2011 id3300

" Blacking Streaking Black Red " ( Right Corner View )

" Blacking Streaking Black Red " ( Right Corner View )
August, 2011 id3286

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Iron Sculptures Americana















Prologue ...

Trains of echoes

Haunt the dark

Hunt the light

Run the tunnels

Of the night ...


~ Iron Sculptures Americana ~

The night wheels
Of the midland train
Are heavy in the night,
Drumbling down
Drumbling the ground

Hammering down
Hammering the sound
Slammin’ the track
Slammin’ the ground
Heavy into the night

Chasing the light and
Turning the whistled echoes,
Slip skimming the slumbered ground
From afar
Echoing upon echo,

Through prairie towns,
Rumble the ground
Trumble the cars
Midwestern beneath the stars,

The Jangle jingled Jangled,
Black iron panther,
Pulling the night freight,
Coursing America’s lifelines.

Black blue smoke
Streaming and screaming,
Rooster-tails chasing the thunder,
Under the dark purple
Night sky of America

To heart lines that weave
The wheat fields and ambered,
Big-backed heartlands of America,
The night wheels
Power and hammer-down,

The iron, then the steel
Slappin’ the track
Slappin’ the ground

Slap the track
Slap the sound
Slice and suck the air,
Swoosh and thunder
The currents aground,

a-hammerin’ down
The slappin' sound
Of rhythmic circled notes,
That sling-cling
Above old-hooved scars
In the Buffalo lands of Americana

And the midnight music
Of all through the night to Chicago,
A-hammerin’ down,
The night-lighted train
Mourns its horn
Through another town,

Iron and steel
The workin’ brawn of America
Night running to Chicago
From afar,

 As Iron pig cars
Trail with hooked tails
And steel tongues,
Drawn, driven and toggled,
Stretched and pulled
By their black steel engined night panther,

Sweating sleek,
Muscle sculpted forearms,
Churning the furnaced front wheels
And her back thighs,
Twin demons
Screaming grooved wheels
In a chorused cacophony
Of track and wooden ties,
Moaning under the sweat-sweet madness
Of power and sparks jumping crazily,

The dark-framed fireworks,
Brimstoned and catapulted
Into the empty night and
Endless prairie lands
Of a sod busting hungry America,

While her long, black haunches
Uncoil a rhythmic cadence
Of bold runs and looping sprints
To the wheel houses
And switching yards,
And the zoo sheds of panthers,
Steam streamers and six legged coal eaters,

Iron resting, steel twitching,
Down cooling down
Sitting heavy on silenced,
Massive circles of steel,

A waiting to hammer down
To clamber clap and
Slap the track away
From the roundhouses of Chicago,

Back to the night runs
Through prairie hamlets
And the sacred lands
Of ancient peoples,
And the Great Plains of America,

The night sound streamer
Hammers down
Clamber clapping
Wheels a-slapping
Meandering track and trestle,

Hell-bent, straight-line and bulleted,
The hinterland rail-bound vessel
Round-hammers the night-silk cover
And the nocturnal orchestra
Of a freight train
A-hammerin’ down,

The dark-orbed wheels
Of the panther, slappin’ the sound
Into nights of myth and magic,
Where iron horses, black panthers,
Night trains and the track runners
Of America’s lifelines,

Circle one another
In Train Dance choreography,
As the steel phantoms,
Amid moon shimmer
And cloud-star dapple,
Rendezvous a great and timeless switching yard,

Drawn to this evening’s oasis
And the prairie's midnight gathering
Of the locomotives of a thousand horses,

And the Great Plains
Black steel rail runners
And the mighty, silver-laced
Iron-red bulls from the East,
Weavers and climbers of mountains,

And the raw-dark, steel sheened
High-ridge runners and down-racers
From the valleys of the South,

To then, the night horned echo, echo
From across the Western flatlands,
The desert sprinter
Powers her path,

Slicing the heat unto waves
And the whip-pool wakes
Of furnace-thundered currents,
Amid the shimmered radiance
Of sounding, rounding feet,
Savaging hotter than the desert heat

And pulls cool
Into the longward lands
Of last grand call
While the lung lust of bagpipers
Beacons the midnight sight

And the night-run quest
To the Mecca
Of the legends of the past
And the legions of the night,

She melds majestic
In hosanna homage
And with steel
And iron sculptures Americana,

Sings out in tribute
To the clarioned music
Of night wheels and the sonata
Of whistles upon the wind...

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