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       Written by: Douglas Wayne Bentley

            © 2009

              ***************************

 Table of Contents:

A)    Jump A Silver Rail

B)    Excerpt from ‘You Remain Unchanged’**

C)    Door Ajar

D)    Traveling On

E)     Cross Tracks

F)     The Last of the Rock Island Hobos

G)    That Next Train

H)    When the Boxcars Start To Shake

I)       Razorblade

J)       Pulling Freight

K)    Sometimes

L)     Excerpt from ‘City of New Orleans’**

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These songs** and the numerous photos from the U. P. R/R Calendars issued down through the many past years given to me has inspired most of these poems. Many thanks to Kelly, Becky & Bill for getting the calendars to me.

 ****

A) Jump A Silver Rail

  ***********************************************************

 One of these days

 just may

 jump a rusty ol’ rail.

 Set sail down that diesel trail.

 Rock this locomotion

 ride it into motion.

 One of these nights

 just might

 hop a Cotton Belt boxcar.

 Running fast traveling far.

 Feel the commotion - skip bail.

 Got a notion  -  jump a silver rail.

Sit by a campfire

yes, there is a desire

to be a hobo,

an ordinary Joe.

As long as it doesn’t rain or snow

and an outhouse ain’t  too far to go!

 ****

B) You Remain Unchanged (an excerpt from the song)  ***********************************************************

Written by: Margaret Becker & David Martin © 1985

Driving across Dakota

I saw an old freight train

That train has crossed this state

Through the wind the snow and rain

Now the wheels were rusted golden

And it wasn't on a track

Somebody somewhere swore that train would be coming back.

But You remain unchanged – unchanged.

You remain unchanged – unchanged.

 ****

C) Door Ajar

 ************************************************************

 Went down to the stock yard

 in that part of town where life is hard.

 Found an old 50’ Hi–Cube MoPac box car

 that had been left with it’s double doors ajar.

 Jumped in

 then pulled the door almost closed

 left a crack

 to peek out back.

 Heard wheels a queakin’- walls a shakin’

 Next thing known– tracks were makin’

 Leavin’ that stock yard

 where living stays hard.

Going south according to the sun

Other than the crew –figured to be the only one

Called Free Rider or a bum

To make life thrilling there’s got to be some fun.

Left Chicago – Go Baby Go

Flew past Memphis – left all that shakin’ behind

On the way to Orleans – gonna look up that Delta Queen
Arriving – Make a new scene.

Then ride different train over to Mobil

Spend an afternoon

Dine on the local Bar-B-Q meal

Pretty hungry – can’t get there too soon.

Hug the North Florida Gulf coast

Take her as far as Fort Walton

Where some memories are most

Boy, talk about fun.

Run in the sand

Play in the sun

Make sandcastles by hand
Stay as long as you can.

Until that next U.P. locomotive

Blows her whistle

And ain’t got nothing more to give
starts to fissile.

Become a greyhound missile

Grab a pocket knife and pistol

Jump in any old box car

That’s been left with it’s door ajar.

D) Traveling On

 ************************************************************

Soon, the dreamless became the sleepless

Left with only pocket change

And worthless collectables to rearrange.

Later, the hopeless became the reckless

With the consciousness of a hornet

Wanted to sting every flower met.

Presently, wallowed in the mire

The spark that would set the world on fire

Expelling the demons as the exhaust floated higher and higher

Polluting the atmosphere.

Begged

And pleaded

Every day

Fewer and fewer words there was to say.

And  ---  ‘Poof’ --- gone

Down the rail.

Not a single hair

Drifted into the stratosphere

No one remembered

No one cared.

A tombstone wasn’t even there.

Now staying on the extinct caboose

Staring back

Looking for bridges passed

Watching them implode then collapse.

The future

Bleak as ever

Only by divine intervention

Could change the course of the track

Traveling on.

E) Cross-tracks

 ********************************************************

In the cross-hairs, felt looking left

The county fair hustling to the right

Winding up down at the cross-tracks

Out of time, no pocket watch to check back .

Dark clouds straight ahead

A motel on the side lot with a vacant bed

Whistles blowing from that KCS 4:45 right on time

Lights flashing, moving fast down the freight line.

With only a moment to think about it

Don’t wait too late

Or hesitate

Down would comes the crossing gate.

Headed for Shreveport

Had just past the Fort

Going southwest – going south

About to be smacked right in the mouth.

Living in a crawl space

Underneath a vacant house

It was a dark place

Home to many a mouse.

Guard exchange Union Jack

With a spare tire tool and a gun packed

Got out carrying a light load

Jumped that 50’ flat loaded with steel stone cold.

Bent back

Hand slap

Ended up down at the cross-tracks

Now onboard  -  reminisce time to look back.

 ****   

F) The Last of the Rock Island Hobos

 ******************************************************

Influenced by the sounds of Memphis

His roots came out of Chicago

The last of the Rock Island hobos

The one who almost accidentally lost his big toe

Ended up North of the River machine

Down by the shade past the submarine

A grove of oak trees

A bed made of dried leaves

An overpass at highway 164

Campfire, burns no more

A torn lean-to dump

Old buckets and stumps

Lots of trash.

He never carried cash

Yet always had a stash

Kept a switch blade in one boot

A Colt 45 silver revolver in the other - along with his toot

Not a murderer nor a robber

Had seen enough killing to be a show stopper

Knew how to protect himself

Lived needing no ones help

Never dept-slept

Kept alone afraid he’d get bush whacked D’Mac’ed

The last of the Rock Island hobos

Riding the rail, there he goes

All the way back to Chicago.

He couldn’t remember names

Gave everyone he met a number

He would ask what area code they came from the phone

He was known as 501

His claim to fame came from what he hadn’t even yet done

A wildcat on the run
He knew how to pick up a hot track

All this did was put a bulls eye on his back

Held onto an old potato sack

Run you over – laugh - never look back

Last seen around the junction at Protho

A new generation of Rock Island hobos.

Riding the rail, there he goes

Express Boxcar 501 back to Chicago.

 ****

G) That next Train

 **********************************************************

He lived down under the bridge

Covered by a couple old potato sacks

Near the old train station

Now Amtrak only used the track

That yearly brought in the Choctaw nation

That flows through his fingers

Some things always seem to linger.

He don’t dare show his face in the light

People would see his plight

He roams the streets at night

Bow and arrow

Bowie knife

People see him, they always run from fright.

Most thought he’s crazy

Think he’s lazy

Cardboard boxes

Old newspapers

He’d leave behind

He’s 5 billion of one kind.

Stuck in another town trying to stay sane

In the desert it only blows dust

It never rains

But eventually it must

Personally, he doesn’t know why he came

Just waiting for that next train.

 ****

H) When the Boxcars Start to Shake

 **************************************************

The new moon grew old

The full moon he stole

And now it didn’t glow

So he decided to go

In the heyday of steam locomotives

Found himself stabbed

Bleeding in a boxcar

In the stockyards of Pine Bluff.

Robbed and naked

He had enough

He was hungry

And they had taken all his stuff.

Moving south to the Rock Island

They came out of their shaddy’s

And out of the woods

Even more thieves and robbers – none of them any good.

How much longer was it going to take?

As he tried coffee to make

Biscuits to bake

When the boxcars start to shake.

They echo down the track

And then they come back

That engine starts pulling away

They jerk one last time - then they stay

Till they start to sway

Each one is different

Yet their alike

Similar to snowflakes – when the boxcars start to shake.

The new moon grew old

The full moon he stole

And now it didn’t glow

So he decided to go.

Down the rail

Where the snow melts

In Orion’s belt

Southern Pacific paying the way.

Pocket full of comets

With a few shooting stars sprinkled in

The healing

Was just about to begin.

The blood starts to boil

Shut the door

Get out your duffel bag roll

And go to sleep once more.

 **** 

I) Razorblade

 ************************************************

Life under a cloud

Doesn’t always mean shade

Razorblade.

When it’s a shroud

Lost what you made

Better behave – chambermaid.

Simple things once did

Now have a lid

Taken for granted activities

Bring gravity – instantaneously.

When every purposeful movement

Delayed and sent

Feet in cement

Hands and toes bent – begins the descent.

Torn and tattered tent

New patch every day spent

Having doubts

Wondering what life meant – please no comment.

Knowing every new day

Starts getting in the way

It’ll never be the same

Feel like shame – no one to blame.

Closing in

Can’t begin

Hate to sellout to a crowd

Life under a cloud.

He spoke like he had razors in his mouth

He cut deep and quickly

So he jumped a train

And headed South

Sarasota’s Rigly.

He’d been down that track

A life time ago looking back

He said he had forgotten

But spoke of it often

Like he was there.

Like anybody cared

South he was railing

With a belly full of snow birds

Blue hairs

Whispered snares.

Where pirates share

Sail out on a dare

Selling tuber ware

Bring your pony – Bring the ol’ mare

Hammer head the spike, like anybody cared.

(You would have had -- to had been there!)

 ****

J) Pullin’ Freight 

 **********************************************************

There’s a 6:40 freight leaving out tonight

Headed for Tulsa

Then on to Magnolia

Diesel driven

Southern Pacific got to make a livin’

It’ll pass

Real fast

Throttle to the gas

That Southbound Sunshine Zepher Mass

Pullin’ freight to the New Orleans’ gate.

Loaded out to the max

Still had plenty of trusses and bridges

Had to pass

Ridin’ that back of the KCS lass.

 ****

K) Sometimes

 ***********************************************************

Sometimes I can’t sleep

I need a lullaby

Sometimes words are cheap

Cry baby cry cry.

There’s a kink in the armor

Has just enough room for an arrow

To pierce my heart – I crack the door

So now you know where to shoot for.

After the stars come out

When the blue moon shouts

Sometimes

I like to walk aimlessly about

About as many miles as it takes

Till I figure it all out.

Cause sometimes I can’t sleep

I need a lullaby

The ditch doesn’t get very deep

So you don’t have to wonder why.

Sometimes I rather vacuum than sweep

Laugh instead of weep

Run instead of creep

Like the road runner ’BEEP BEEP‘.

Sometimes I like to. . . . wring that birds neck!

Ahhhh heck. . . . . .

I need a lullaby

I can’t sleep. . . . I can’t sleep

And six feet is way too deep.

“Hush, pretty green eyes, I’ll sing you a song

Soft and soothing – however long

Whatever you need- tired of looking back

To get you off that main track

And find that strait spur that leads home

Where you come to find out you were never alone.”

 ****

L) City of New Orleans

 ************************************************

Written by Steve Goodman (an excerpt from the song) 

Ridin’ on the city of New Orleans

Illinois Central Monday morning rail

Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders

Two conductors and a twenty-five sacks a’ mail

All along the southbound odyssey

The train pulls out at Kankakee

And moves on along past houses, farms and fields

Passin’ trains what ain’t got no names

Switch yards full a’ old black men

And the graveyards full of them rusted automobiles.

Good mornin’ America, how are ya?

Well, a don’tcha know me? I’m your native son

I’m the train they call the city of New Orleans

And I’ll be gone 500 miles when the day is done.