Last Train Poem by Jerry Pike

Jerry Pike

Harrow, London, England

Last Train

Rating: 5.0


Last Train

There was one rode in, and one rode out,
below sodium trickles, of Saturday doubt,
under skies of lake purple, with pock marks of stars,
there was one road for nowhere and one for the cars.

There were tramlines of yellow and Morse code in white,
by the hill of a station that glowed into night,
many walked with a solemn rejection of day,
past a barbwire reception where booking clerks pray.

Double fences for honing the locals to shape,
kept a soldiering world in its khaki-dull drape,
and A Soldiers Return was the name of the bars,
living hope for those opposite, licking their scars.

So he penned it in rhythm, and curled it to fit,
with a backbeat of sixties, those Monkee boys hit,
sweetened Candy Shop Prophets turned sugar to sour,
from a pop to a bang, youngsters died by the hour.

And the last train to Clarksville was well on its way,
that old Vietnam stop off, that ended their day,
they would ship out to Asia, last touch of Yank loam
I don’t know if I’m ever, yes I’m ever, coming home.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Mary Naylor 18 February 2007

You captured this reader from beginning to end. Haloed around the strong, rhythmical beat and the excellent use of rhyme, the flames of tragedy flare. Bravo!

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Jerry Pike

Harrow, London, England
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