10-10-2019, 01:43 AM
I've edited quite a bit! Changed the wording on some things that Todd pointed out, added a few lines that I had taken out or moved them around, and kept the same x/aa/bb rhyme scheme throughout (except stanza 6 sort of? Although I felt the ends still matched up well enough, and it's my favorite stanza). Also, every stanza is now 5 lines. This allowed me to paint an even more concrete image and narrative as well as tie the ending back to the beginning a bit more. Let me know what you both think.
Burnt Orange Train
I wandered around the old streets alone
Squared like a chessboard stripped of its hues
Set in weathered brown against the sky’s navy blue
I summoned memories of love on that senile train
Washing words down with pilsner and watching the rain
We sat amused and content on the cracked leather seats
On the blotted window shone dried drops with finger smudge
And all we had were hand motions and the occasional nudge -
Of the passengers within, we were becoming steadily wearier
Deciding to converse with the curious men, we crossed bravely a barrier
The dust-covered curtains fell down against teal carpet
They fit well there on the caterpillar locomotive, showing signs of time
And the four men, two old, two middle-aged, were robust, a rhyme
Of character and whim, for hours we talked and even prayed
They impressed me more than I them, so my thanks I then relayed
She sat to my left, looking amused, saying “Isn’t this grand?”
I whistled and shouted, smiling, hanging out the elderly caboose
Letting hair blow off my face and glancing at the grey-bearded muse
Grinning grimly, my body shivering from the mood, not the cold
At this point I returned, feeling assured that she’d be where she’d told
Back in the bar of the middle car I encountered the two younger men
Wearing tight faces they took my arm, appearing determined and stout
Turning the corners of their mouths slowly they motioned about
Pretending I understood, I finally did, and it was brutally clear
He’d simply asked if I’d sit down, and I could pay close attention and hear
Another story from my new friend, armed with Translate and smokes
Much obliged I took his offer – my heart was much too full
Like the sidewalks on a Bucharest Friday – my eyes the street lamps’ glow
I took another shake from my acquaintance’s rough hands
And asked him careful and slow if he’d been anytime to Indiana
The blank look on his face told me all I needed to know
Or maybe it was indifferent? Hell if I could decipher what he’d said
Nonetheless, I assumed the right answer, but went right ahead
And promised if he’d come, he would certainly have a place to stay
A place to sit, drink, talk, and waste away a day
I took his subsequent silence to mean (not that he was rude)
But that he would take me up on that offer – so instead of saying more
I hopped off, leaving a number on a white note between the seat and door
That number he found – and now I grin on this chessboard without hue
Because the rusty man on the train has called me more times than a few
Burnt Orange Train
I wandered around the old streets alone
Squared like a chessboard stripped of its hues
Set in weathered brown against the sky’s navy blue
I summoned memories of love on that senile train
Washing words down with pilsner and watching the rain
We sat amused and content on the cracked leather seats
On the blotted window shone dried drops with finger smudge
And all we had were hand motions and the occasional nudge -
Of the passengers within, we were becoming steadily wearier
Deciding to converse with the curious men, we crossed bravely a barrier
The dust-covered curtains fell down against teal carpet
They fit well there on the caterpillar locomotive, showing signs of time
And the four men, two old, two middle-aged, were robust, a rhyme
Of character and whim, for hours we talked and even prayed
They impressed me more than I them, so my thanks I then relayed
She sat to my left, looking amused, saying “Isn’t this grand?”
I whistled and shouted, smiling, hanging out the elderly caboose
Letting hair blow off my face and glancing at the grey-bearded muse
Grinning grimly, my body shivering from the mood, not the cold
At this point I returned, feeling assured that she’d be where she’d told
Back in the bar of the middle car I encountered the two younger men
Wearing tight faces they took my arm, appearing determined and stout
Turning the corners of their mouths slowly they motioned about
Pretending I understood, I finally did, and it was brutally clear
He’d simply asked if I’d sit down, and I could pay close attention and hear
Another story from my new friend, armed with Translate and smokes
Much obliged I took his offer – my heart was much too full
Like the sidewalks on a Bucharest Friday – my eyes the street lamps’ glow
I took another shake from my acquaintance’s rough hands
And asked him careful and slow if he’d been anytime to Indiana
The blank look on his face told me all I needed to know
Or maybe it was indifferent? Hell if I could decipher what he’d said
Nonetheless, I assumed the right answer, but went right ahead
And promised if he’d come, he would certainly have a place to stay
A place to sit, drink, talk, and waste away a day
I took his subsequent silence to mean (not that he was rude)
But that he would take me up on that offer – so instead of saying more
I hopped off, leaving a number on a white note between the seat and door
That number he found – and now I grin on this chessboard without hue
Because the rusty man on the train has called me more times than a few