Sunday, September 17, 2023

Dr. Ernest Williamson III, Ph.D. - One Poem

 Because of the Train

                         In memory of Bloke Porter                   


We have twenty minutes till dawn. 

For at least twenty and twenty years 

I have worked in night.

All the night. In all the nights.

Even though no one knows

or knew about it.

Nearly now

  we can go

  like many things

  go away. Shrills cuss words in utterances.

  Mean letters coldly aligned

  shutter then lie down.

Though we pant in grey resultant.


  Because of the train.


  Ennui in we in soaked silence

  who smile 

  with wisdom of the fish bolts.

  As Romance and Old Visions of Rome


  in our seats.

  We know nothing of these people.


Because of the train.


  Iced auburn rails against the rails.

All of them so sweetly. I cannot begin to count

the burns. Our assumed words

  burned into our ears because we wasted not

our time. In hour's midnight.

       Because of the train.


Soon birches will bend for

in smile of us, even when lights

  release glitter ash



  plus, my soul.

  Blessed is thy soul.

Because of the train.

         In spite of no solace. We worked.

And this too. This is what

I, too, remembered.


Dr. Ernest Williamson III has published creative work in over six hundred journals. His poetry has appeared in over two hundred journals including The Roanoke Review, Pinyon Review, Review Americana, Aroostook Review, Poetry, Life & Times, and Westview. Currently, Ernest lives in Nashville, Tennessee.

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