Now Boarding, Now Rambling

You'll see the imagery-relevance of this soon enough. Image by: Chris Galford.

In keeping with the Den’s theme of travel this week (see previous post for update on that little number, mind you), what few free moments I found today were spent typing up this little number for you folks. Wanted to capture a sense of depart-wait a second! What am I doing, giving away the meanings? That’s for you people to figure out after all – don’t know if I did well, if I just give all the secrets away.

Even so, I think it needs a little touch of work still (and yes, I know I get snipped at by folks for saying that any time I do it on here…but nonetheless!), but that’s the beauty of the blogosphere – so many wonderful minds out there, ready to give and to take, critique, grow, and flourish in the presence of their fellow creative community members. Some silly people believe that if you aren’t content with it, it should be hidden away, kept from public eye until you are…to keep one’s self-opinions and dignity high I suppose. Personally, I like the reality check – and if it’s bad, goodness, shouldn’t a writer wish to know? So as ever…critique welcome!

Consequently, if you haven’t, (and particularly if you’re not wandering in here from D’Verse Poetry), you should give this wonderful community a look. Lovely site, lots of great people about – and if you’re at all familiar with One Stop Poetry, you’ll find lots of familiar faces there.

Now Boarding

The yellow dress sits at the bedside table.

Bare feet upon the tiled trail,

smooth lines catch the dirt,

end in mountains under

Phrygian skies

where words give to mudslides

of heart; no sneakers

will bear them there.


It was the shoes they left behind.

When worlds light by tails

there’s no room left to fill,

the memories move like clockwork –

bodies remain,

lost along the long roads

rendered Silken; eyes open

to coal bell rings.


No one speaks of the bill till it’s due.

They always say to breathe–

she prays that he will breathe.

Across the prairie roams old

Model T

beating out the departure chords,

soot-lined; black worlds

always greet the young.


The yellow dress sits at the bedside table.

She would take his hand,

tell him blisters fade with time,

that their shoes will find him still

in Requiem

somewhere beyond that grey road

they wait; clock ticks

as she offers him the keys.

17 thoughts on “Now Boarding, Now Rambling

  1. I felt the journey, it is beautifully orchestrated in this, along with some lovely imagery “Phyrygian skies” “coal bell rings” pointing to just a few. enjoyed the refrain in the end stanza tying it up. Thanks for stopping by today, always appreciate you! Cant wait to be desert neighbors! ~ Rose

  2. hey your departure poem..lot’s of great lines – love the requiem much….
    hard to leave the old friends behind and walk that new road….eh? wishing you all the best..and see ya soon..that’s the good thing in blogworld…always just a mouseclick away…and hey…it’s best to walk the new roads barefoot…smiles

  3. very nice chris…love how you wrap back around to your opening…like your descriptions…leaving is never really easy, you always leave something behind…

  4. Love the focus on the yellow dress, pulling us back from the adventure and pain of the silk road. The reference to the model t, the history and time of the piece. The lost shoes…very sad. I get a sense of labor and toil, of pain and loss, but also of fear and at the same time a certain anticipation…and now I ramble…as I go back to read again and get hit with another grand vision, which I suppose is the point…just not to be publicly recorded for all to see! Awesome write, enjoyed the travels and Happy OpenLinkNight!

  5. Nice scene of the yellow dress and the details of depature. Sad to say you always leave behind more than your shoes… a part of you stay in that place or city.

    Thanks for sharing this with us. Blessed journey ~

  6. “No one speaks of the bill till it’s due…” a real mood of something looming just out of sight, something difficult and perhaps even frightening, here amidst the left behinds and the bare feet. A cascade of images and emotions, drawing us down into the heart of someone else’s journey, perhaps telling us it’s also our own. Good stuff Chris.

  7. You are such a refreshing soul, Chris. I thought this was beautiful, and I also like the yellow dress thread. One of my favorite parts is,

    “She would take his hand,
    tell him blisters fade with time,
    that their shoes will find him still”

    Always a pleasure to visit here 🙂

  8. So good to read you again Chris. It’s the truth you write. Bonds grown tighter at the end and yellow dresses and long roads flicker like a kinescope recording behind one’s eyes. Very fine write.

  9. you make it impossible to remember you are not much, much older ~ both with the wisdom in your writing and in your “craftsmanship” ~ even your “not up to par” pieces are better than anything i’ll ever write.

    have a great trip, Chris. enjoy the drive and enjoy all of the things in your new hometown which you experience for the first time. you’ll love Colorado!

  10. For some reason this beautiful and poignant piece left me tearful, although I’m not entirely sure why. For the first time in my life I also asked myself something… I wonder if men and women look at poetry slightly differently? I would be very interested to know what you think. The yellow dress was like a beautiful great flag in my mind, the shoes, the word Silken. Would a man focus on the car and the keys more, or is that entirely simplistic?

  11. This poem had me interpreting it in so many ways… I first thought of parents coming to terms with the fact that their children have finally come of age and are now ready to face the world… and then, the poem made me think of death… it also made me think very literally – about the car itself – the old, rumbly yet awesome little piece of machinery – all set to roll!

    Oh yea.. this was good work, Chris! I love it when poems make me think in various directions… and this one certainly did!!

  12. “The yellow dress sits at the bedside table.

    She would take his hand,

    tell him blisters fade with time,

    that their shoes will find him still

    in Requiem

    somewhere beyond that grey road

    they wait; clock ticks

    as she offers him the keys.”

    Chris, I found this stanza particularly evocative and strangely moving. I won’t pretend to have mastered every nuance of this intriguing poem, But I am prepared to agree with T. S. Eliot that: ‘Great poetry communicates before it’s fully understood.’ Thanks for sharing, James.

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