Creosote and snowballs

Creosote and snowballs

Fresh fallen  this  january snow covers the old coal sheds in town
in the distance we hear the diesel’s whine
Yet we stood ready our collection of snowballs
near our feet the scent of creosote and snow
They are coming

Down the slope to the tracks we aimed our arms
to test the distance of the  throw
The mornin sun glints off from the aluminum Pulman cars
but we stood ever vigilant
The excitement builds

Ah the wars fought by gallant ten year olds
against the railroad kings in small town America
nearer and nearer the diesel air horns piercing
finally we hear the screeching iron wheels
And the war begins

Snowball  bombs raining down on the surprised faces
of the giant fear bound passenger cars
Ten year old  warriors roaring  as if Scottish clans at the gates
throwing all that we had
Yet not a broken window found
As the train slows for the station

And we run in retreat like never before as if our lives
depended on the distance placed
Waiting  waiting waiting for the black and whites
the uniformed enemy of a children  everywhere
But they never come  we defeated the enemy once again

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EdF

Sometime in my life, I started to write about my life journey, in poetry, in story perhaps to sort them out and enter them into a place of safekeeping. The soul of the writer is perhaps best described in their words, emotions and thoughts. If these poems or stories touch something inside you then maybe I have succeeded in sharing. I will not write about my self in profile, because self isn't so important in writing. Only the journey in words and the sharing are important. Why would we say "Now about me!"... I'd rather write about life, nature, serenity ...

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