The Truth About Trains

5/16/24

Category: Art, Beauty, Nature, Poetry, Suffering

This poem was inspired by a poem written by my dear friend, Jerome Gastaldi, whom you may know as Bob Abbott. The last stanza starts . . .

Some do not want to know.

For the pain of knowing 

Is the death

Of their illusion.

—Jerome Gastaldi

Riding the train.

A pane of glass is all

that separates the sacrosanct

from the profane.

 

A crude sketch—

golden triangles

atop American-grown rectangles—

slides off the page,

a screaming countryside,

a smeared canvas.

 

I place my 50-year-old hand

on top of the glass,

trying to catch

the trees without faces.

 

These faceless creatures—

a Tolkien script stuffed

into a Tim Burton stocking—

run to keep up,

hurdling power lines

on spider’s legs.

 

I feel like Einstein

riding a beam of light.

Nothing is faster than

my memory of that day,

or, was it night?

 

Dreams of decapitated shapes

drive in circles,

or, am I awake?

 

Illusion is remaining

on this locomotive island,

enticed by Calypso,

determined to catch

a glimpse of reality,

 

when in reality,

 

truth is borrowing Merton’s passport,

heading home to Ithaca—

a port just beyond the storms.

 

“For the pain of knowing”

is the reference point

to growing into the reflection

of the canvas within—

a whisper that breaks glass.

10/18/24

Christmas for Ginny has always been the most important day of the year. It’s a magical day when anything is possible, like the unprecedented miracle of God taking on human form; it’s when a supernatural star led the Magi to the infant God-man, lying helplessly in a symbolic feeding trough; and it’s when men met God face-to-Face in a humble manger to worship him and feed from him. Ginny loves Christmas for both its majestic beauty and historical truth. She understands, however, that this sacred day has been tainted with folklore and commercialism, but experience and wisdom enable her to see these gilded traditions as a way to bridge the gap between the sacred and the profane. For Ginny, a gift for someone special on Christmas is a reminder of the greatest Gift ever given. So naturally Ginny wants to give Brad something special for Christmas. But she, too, finds herself without two pennies to rub together. Then, suddenly, an idea flashes across her mind that makes her eyes water, feeling the internal warmth that comes with giving wholeheartedly.

Read More »

10/17/24

Ten years ago, my parents, Robert and Sheila, were killed in a car accident on Christmas Day. A head on collision with a drunk driver took them away from me. It turned out that both front airbags were defective. They were coming back from looking at Christmas lights. My seven-year-old daughter was in the back seat. She was not wearing her seatbelt. She was thrown from the wreckage. She died instantly.

Read More »

10/12/24

“You need me! Without me … you’re nothing! I keep you alive.” “Are you kiddin’ me? This isn’t living.” “How dare you interrupt me! You entitled, insecure, unappreciative little brat! I give you hope. I give you purpose. I give you meaning. If you leave me now, you’ll die. You’ll have nothing to get you…

Read More »

Newsletter Signup