SLUT FROM HELL BY ANA CHRISTY PUBLISHED IN “RANT” MAGAZINE

CORRECTION -PATIENTS ON 7TH LINE. I WANT THE POEMS I POST TO BE AUTHENTIC WITH NO CORRECTIONS, AND COPYED AS IS FROM MY BOOKS.

THIS SONG GOT DAVE AND I THROUGH ROUGH TIMES WHEN WE WERE POOR

THIS SONG GOT DAVE AND I THROUGH ROUGH TIMES WHEN WE WERE POOR-WHICH WAS MOST OF THE TIME!

THE GRATEFUL DEAD “I WILL GET BY”

http://youtu.be/nCYbRmSlW-M

FREIGHT TRAINS AND BOXCARS- POETRY BY ANA CHRISTY, FROM REAL JUNKIES DON’T EAT PIE

FREIGHT TRAINS AND BOXCARS

I see the railroad run high

Above the course of the

Winding road

This is the remote landscape

Of the rockies

The wind of the Colorado at

The bottom of deep ravines

I think of days of hobos on

The pacific railroad

Pete Seeger doing a harmonica

Train whistle and

Blind sonny

Woodie Guthrie

Spirit voices of the boxcars

Car wheels clicking over

Sleepers

The bass strings thumping

Out a rattling caboose

Freedom whistles and hillbilly

Yodels

Singing songs of unfelt land

Small nourishing villages

Blues blowers in straw hats

Boogie woogie of jagged rock

Riding the ‘rods under carloads

Of steel

Hobos on the Wabash cannonball

The mingle of oil and mountain

Flower

Engine steam and morning fog

Driving rain on creosote ties

Tank spouts rattling

Gamblers. settlers  miners

Soldiers and ordinary folk

Boarding trains in small town

Stations

Sheep dogs on cars ready

To scare off straying cows

Steam locomotives screeching

Along blinding curves in

Oregon

along sawmills and

Great warehouses

The green of timber touching

The sky

Running over deep chasms

And bridges

The song of the hammering

Driving wheels

Heavy jawed breakmen in

Oil cloth pants

Smoking a pipe with hand on

The throttle

Construction camps and shanty

Towns

Side door pullman and smokers

Crowded with passengers

Singing songs

Telling tall stories

“Train butchers” peddling

Orange-aide

I think of Jesse James

With a colt 45 standing

On a depot platform having

Robbed a train car on a

Missouri platform about to

Get his getaway to Kansas city

Transient trackmen riding

Boxcar Pullman going to lumber

Camps in Washington doing

Roadwork in raw untamed

Territory

Scoffing down black cawfee

And rye bread dipped in

Sowbelly grease at mess tables

In roadside tents

Pacific slim  Syracuse shine

And slim jim from vinegar hill

I think of negro work songs

And the voice of Irish immigrants

As they told their tales

A land of being discovered and

Miles of track and the rhythm of

The engine

“Standing on a platform making

A cheap cigar waiting for an old

Freight train that carries an empty car.”

                                             ana christy from “real junkies don’t eat pie”