Coastal ways make running paint,
A mural smeared through breaking pace,
The land and sea all fall to gorgeous colour,
Holding but a semblance of their passing form.

And here as colours run, we meet,
Pure strangers who we seek to be,
With some kind of passing form in sight,
A light for them. A colour and a love.

Road trip through roaring wind and rain,
The grumpy lines upon the heights,
Tire out and fold like paper dreams,
Into a psychedelic smile,
Held back to yellow though cascades,
Of colour tug the edge of this,
Strange shift from every deepened grey.

To don smart clothes,
In wake of whirlwind rush,
Streaming through the countryside,
Upon the tarmac empty beside,
The tranquil grass and salty air,
To travel so very far and fair.

Passing in the rain,
The glass in turn is slick,
Upon the sky I see a crane,
Draw red lightning in the darkness quick,
To dance for us under the rain,
To watch us pass and leap on grass.

Travel trouble,
Dumbfounded in the wrong location,
Lights out no sparse communication,
But the trouble starts to simmer,
My finger pointed in the mirror,
Why can't I read the little print,
Right there! The middle muddled int-
-erspersed in all the email text,
And all of me but none the world perplexed,
A humble even quiet call to be somewhere else entirely.

Oh off beyond the countryside,
To concrete fields and glass meadows,
Then deeper into busy humanity,
Wearing different clothes and colours,
Wearing different eyes and noses,

Now hustle on into these sharpened trains,
In costume unfamiliar yet so nearly just the same,
Now bustle on into discomforting seats,
Share some words with perfect strangers,
Find they're rather neat in all their rich humanity,

Oh off beside the countryside,
For hours under clear blue skies,
For hours by oil painterly clouds,
That flow above lush life racing,
That frame the pretty flowers by the tracks,

Oh off beyond the countryside,
To battered train to olden shore,
Encamped each side by her majesty blue,
Here I glimpsed what I didn't know,
A place one dear to me has spent her days.

Word gaming and semantic framing,
For fried physics brains and friends,
They make good company and strike up a dance,
Upon a slow stuttered train that halts and stops,
Starts again to see the dawn of play,
The dawn of something given laughter and lightness,
To find a piece of what is human in the learning,
To see the fun in semantic framing,
To see the good in closeness born from play.

T'was a 'stander' on the train,
Two feet below two elbows,
Planted on a wall to lean,
A dauntless task to firm,
The rumbles from the tracks below,
Their depths so close yet in shadow,
Of charging beast,
Of leviathan snaking through the mountain paths,
Through tunnels and past swaying trees.

Train all day,
No way that's cray,
These metal tracks,
Slick paths like clay,
And journey's stack,
Each time both ways,
And metal tracks,
Spark with each ray,
And journey's stack,
Bathed in each ray.

Travel is as travel does,
Sipping on the cooling air I walk,
In shadows cast and through the pale,
And evening glow that takes a perch upon my toes,
Then to the belly of a metal snake,
A gentle rumble then I feel a tug,
It blankets me and presses in but I press more,
I walk along to find its teeth,
And wait for when it opens wide,
I am in a place that's not the same,
I am in a place that's far from home.

Finite mind, memory mess,
And trains that ran away,
Out of my grasping hands,
Screeching at my bated breath,

Crosses to the naughts,
I seem to play a game,
Be the fool, demands,
Yet to a draw its brought,

Great mystery divine,
Mercy abundant in
The ways you answer prayer,
With gracious wit you hold the time,

And humble us just as we ask,
And humble us just as we don't.

I find a train under,
My friend of silent hum,
My world is torn asunder,
It's open to the breeze beyond.

Late night trains,
Carriage swaying to the beats of the night,
Quiet humming rising up from the carpet below,
And I sit sunk down to the back of my seat,
Legs tired,
Straight hopping,
Now limp and repeat:
Legs tired,
And we lurch to a stop.

Winding paths,
Converge into one,
Like fleeting bursts they multiply like streams,
Then they consolidate in a bustling walk,
It pools at a reservoir,
And people swim amalgamated with the rushing tide:
Waltzers,
Rapid rushers,
Wandering walkers waking in a clockwork stew,
And the dam bursts,
And I'm flowing in the rapids now,
And the creaking train beneath my feet is herald of a timely trip made once again.

Tunnels come and cloak the train,
To mirrors turn the windowpanes,
In shadows cast they show the same
Brothers sitting waiting still,
One observing while the other chills,
And out we come from tunnels drilled,
Into the open sky alight,
Dressed up in striking red tonight,
And it falls away beneath the trees.

Green way,
And the grey tattoo is hemmed in by lines of uninterrupted nature,
The uniform scar stretches along the earth,
As a myriad of green sways in the wind of hurtling tin cans,
The dancing trees exude vitality to the point of near bursting,
It's a strangly beautiful and upsetting sight,
You are present to see such a vibrant sprawl...
But the green way stands interrupted.

Two behemoths side-eye each other,
Charging to the tune of diverging cast-iron fates,
Yet centimeters from carnage,
The wind seems to buckle and grind out growls and resounding pops in between the mad dash,
And then all is still again,
Only a low whine betrays the ongoing bolt to the next stop...
Maybe to another zealous confrontation also.

Walking shadows,
Walk between the longing shade,
And talk between the leaning trees,
On mud, gravel and stone beneath their darkened feet,
Overlapping sometimes,
Doubled up and down to split beyond,
They silent walk and talk in pocketed hands,
And gaze sideways at numerous stars.

Hard steel clatters and rebounds,
In an electric dance,
As pure flowing power crackles silently between the tracks.

The world rushes by impassive,
Insulated by thick onsetting night,
And a desolate wind chases behind.

As the orange lights bathe these teal chairs in citrus waves,
A lulling rattle flows unending through the carriage.

We sit face to face,
Speaking of the simple and complex.

Young travelers sojourning in a distant land,
After recharging with our own.

All mysteries are our Lord's,
The hiding place of knowledge and wisdom are bare before him.

Over time we will know,
He will share with us the simple and the complex.

And into eternity we shall laugh and learn.

Blood combusts and rages through my arteries,
It boils forth,
At once tame and hiding a primordial temper.
It rises to the surface dancing,
Through the veins and down my legs,
It stalks and cycles in a timeless prowl.

One step,
Two step,
Green light,
Green light.

I run unfettered,
The concrete slapping my soles in retaliation,
As I run without restraint,
As I run a fool and sage,
As I run to spite the clock.

As much as I like to run with these long legs,
And decorate my rush with a flourish and twirl,
He gave me these fine legs of mine,
And turns the red lights green,
For tired feet to tread.

Walking slowly,
Is a great pleasure of mine,
To breath deeply,
And gaze at the world through eyes that shine.

Often I am walking quickly,
To a lesson,
To a train,
To a service,
To my home again.

I like the moments when I can walk slowly,
To take in the sights,
And watch the many people passing by,
People are quite beautiful, right?

Slow and quick,
Humble and proud,
Growing and in step with old patterns.

There's great hope for them,
Someone's nocking, you see.