The Sunlander is Coming
Posted: Mon Nov 18, 2013 12:55 pm
I guess those who know will know.
THE SUNLANDER IS COMING.
Roma Street. Then suburbs pass.
Piles of sleepers. Uncut grass.
Stations neath a cloche of glass;
a feast upon my table.
Scraping by in corridors
thinly made with smallish doors,
carpets run the walls and floors
to endings at the windows.
Pillows on the luggage rack.
Wear and tear. A tiny crack.
Red arm rests are turning black.
The smell of use and caring.
Water suitable to drink.
All the drops are precious: think!
Suitcase down beside the sink,
a drop-down stainless basin.
Sharp Disposals! In the loo
foreign objects will not do,
paper only please, and you!
A slot: dry refuse only.
Stairs that rise the cuttings side
disappear, what do they hide?
Sunset’s sinking like a tide.
The countryside is changing.
Gympie North is on the right.
Heading off toward the night.
Drop the bunk down, what a sight!
The promise of an odd sleep.
Strata through the cuttings cost
epochs of the past, now lost.
Brahmans leave a soft riposte.
The Theebine pub is passing.
Open fields and grazing land.
Dams and holes. An old tank stand.
Down line rolling up as planned.
A freight train on a siding.
Shunting limit! Warning Sign!
Roly poly, cross the line.
Ants nest squatting seems benign
but, ‘DANGER ’ in the cables!
Tiaro rail yards slowly pass.
Ancient cranes are gripped by grass.
Bogies, sleepers, rails and glass
lie scattered in the wreckage.
Cane fields standing tall by strip.
Wide Bay-Burnett on the slip.
Auto wreckers at the dip
near Maryborough station.
Loss of light is losing me,
flicking ghosts, a flitting tree,
deeper darks where forests be
as dusk at last surrenders.
Red lights flashing by at night.
Crossings lit with yellow light.
Bundy rolling into sight.
A chance to stretch a long limb.
Night rolls up the narrow line,
Gladstone, Rocky, Proserpine,
sunrays etch the morning shine
as earth and sky are purging.
Grinding curves and scouring brakes,
whistle blasts and rattling shakes,
clicks and clacks the rolling makes;
acoustics of the railway.
Cardwell has a sullen yard,
bits of houses brought down hard,
Yasi played a bitter card
with homes and lives in tatters.
Now abandoned old farm sheds,
rooftops stained to rusty reds,
tank stands standing on their heads;
the facts of life in Queensland.
Jungle squeezes ‘round the line,
overgrown with twisting vine,
straining on a steep incline,
then coasting to the seaboard.
Mileposts marking off the day,
engines humming time away,
singing to the North to say:-
“The Sunlander is coming.”
© M M (Mal) Beveridge 3/3/13
THE SUNLANDER IS COMING.
Roma Street. Then suburbs pass.
Piles of sleepers. Uncut grass.
Stations neath a cloche of glass;
a feast upon my table.
Scraping by in corridors
thinly made with smallish doors,
carpets run the walls and floors
to endings at the windows.
Pillows on the luggage rack.
Wear and tear. A tiny crack.
Red arm rests are turning black.
The smell of use and caring.
Water suitable to drink.
All the drops are precious: think!
Suitcase down beside the sink,
a drop-down stainless basin.
Sharp Disposals! In the loo
foreign objects will not do,
paper only please, and you!
A slot: dry refuse only.
Stairs that rise the cuttings side
disappear, what do they hide?
Sunset’s sinking like a tide.
The countryside is changing.
Gympie North is on the right.
Heading off toward the night.
Drop the bunk down, what a sight!
The promise of an odd sleep.
Strata through the cuttings cost
epochs of the past, now lost.
Brahmans leave a soft riposte.
The Theebine pub is passing.
Open fields and grazing land.
Dams and holes. An old tank stand.
Down line rolling up as planned.
A freight train on a siding.
Shunting limit! Warning Sign!
Roly poly, cross the line.
Ants nest squatting seems benign
but, ‘DANGER ’ in the cables!
Tiaro rail yards slowly pass.
Ancient cranes are gripped by grass.
Bogies, sleepers, rails and glass
lie scattered in the wreckage.
Cane fields standing tall by strip.
Wide Bay-Burnett on the slip.
Auto wreckers at the dip
near Maryborough station.
Loss of light is losing me,
flicking ghosts, a flitting tree,
deeper darks where forests be
as dusk at last surrenders.
Red lights flashing by at night.
Crossings lit with yellow light.
Bundy rolling into sight.
A chance to stretch a long limb.
Night rolls up the narrow line,
Gladstone, Rocky, Proserpine,
sunrays etch the morning shine
as earth and sky are purging.
Grinding curves and scouring brakes,
whistle blasts and rattling shakes,
clicks and clacks the rolling makes;
acoustics of the railway.
Cardwell has a sullen yard,
bits of houses brought down hard,
Yasi played a bitter card
with homes and lives in tatters.
Now abandoned old farm sheds,
rooftops stained to rusty reds,
tank stands standing on their heads;
the facts of life in Queensland.
Jungle squeezes ‘round the line,
overgrown with twisting vine,
straining on a steep incline,
then coasting to the seaboard.
Mileposts marking off the day,
engines humming time away,
singing to the North to say:-
“The Sunlander is coming.”
© M M (Mal) Beveridge 3/3/13
