just saw this! fun.... I counted hyphenated words as individusal words and not as one. better stricter than.... (is there such a proverb? better safe than sorry, i spose.)
.



Out-of-breath Shani, and that slope again, or perhaps, as usual, the bus-stop at its peak; the sock with the hole in the toe [nuisance!] and her big toe flush against the seam of her shoe, the little stone in the shoe [drat!], the bag in her left hand so much lighter than the one in her right [annoyingly askew!], the sun’s blaze on much of her neck [because of the ponytail], and always, that last minute little thing, that any-second-now, that dash, the niggle of that back-of-the-mind thought: on time? not on time? Not a moment too soon; not a moment too late. All a matter of perspective: the subjective, or objective; the hopeless, or hopeful. Shani’s usual exchange of hellos and smiles, some travelers old friends already. Then relief, with the ‘plonk’ of Shani’s bags on the floor. Another workday over.
.

John, Martin--

Yes. I noticed that. Pity.

THE ASTRONAUT

Now in his cabin, the astronaut, with a small thought in his mind. An unsettling little thought. In his chair. Still on the ground at the Kennedy Space Center, Launch Pad 39A. Beyond the rocket’s tip: the moon, Mars, Jupiter, Orion, Arcturus, The Pleiades (that faint, scintillating open star cluster in Taurus). Soon, the countdown. Then into space atop millions of parts, in a rocket weighing 6.7 million pounds. But in the meantime, this unnerving notion: that each component of this rocket, from engine to each panel to each socket — in fact, every single piece, section, segment, module of this contraption — the best components? Why, no! The cheapest parts by the lowest bidder! Now in his cabin, the astronaut, with a small thought in his mind — “10, 9, 8 ...”

Yes, me too. But I was in denial about the prose part! Anyway, I came up with something about an astronaut (see post #14).

John,
I love all the train names! Were there really that many? Do any survive?
Hang on to it. Maybe a competition will come up where you can use it.

The age of the railroad here is virtually extinct. The old names were so romantic -- “The Empire Builder," “The California Zephyr” “The Texas Eagle” and of course the "City of New Orleans” forever immortalized by Arlo Guthrie. How sad.

Diana, that sounds like a great idea. Go for it!

Seree, Martin, good!

Keep 'em coming!

Marion, they're not trains. They're trucks, or do you say wagons? The wagons (trucks) belong to the people whose names are painted on the sides. There might be a hundred of them. I was what they call a train-spotter. The long goods train would be hauled (probably) by a black Stainier 8F 2-8-0 locomotive built originally for the London, Midland and Scottish railway but now belonging to British Railways. The names are redolent of the North, from which the train came or to which it was going. I was a London boy and that was all of the North I had ever seen.

Martin,
You haven't lost anything. You've just written a very good poem.

Same goes for John except he says it's an old one.

Thanks, Marion!

Yes, Di, it does sound like a good plan.

Thanks, Janet! You are right. And I had fun writing it.

Martin