LISTEN HERE: The HUB of New Mexico Christian Internet Radio Station www.thehubnm.com had Author David Wilde on with us to tell us about his latest poem that has been published and his book signing on March 29th at noon at the UNM Bookstore! The poem is entitled – THE TRAIN and is about the New Mexico Railrunner and the experience of riding aboard. You can read the whole poem below the interview.

The Train

a shoe in the
dirt whitely cast
aside next to
the line – the track
briefly glimpsed
on the station at
the resting train
next is the 50%
of visible cable
in morning sunlight
reflected from high
on the sandia mountain-
side facing west
before morning mists
dissipates – cooling
a spanish market
summer’s day in
santa fe popular
for crowds visitors
or not – hot for
trinkets or iconic

religious artifacts
whose weight defying
gravity takes the breath
away before catching
our imagination at
market forces playing
with our sense of
justice and fairplay
the value-laden sense
of a travelers purse
as an example –
people stand and
stare as the cars
are trolled along –
rails click wheels
spin voices fill the
air of confinement
ticket collectors seek
the new arrivals on
rail-runner time
between stations crossing
into open spaces
outside

and on return
the flight is fast
the journey swift
the poles fly past
easily
children gasp and
parents wheeze as
stations move impossibly
and time is but
a memory of former
trips and holidays
glimpsed slowly in
the mind as joy
and images portray
a world of wonder
gracious and kind
at least in memory
left far behind –
and babies fed on
breasts galore
the hurried ride
for rich or poor
on rail runner time
across the desert shore


phillip larkin’s tale
of cider with rosy
fits the bill of w/e
journeys on trains
another literary distraction
to look the other way
out of windows
the passage of passing
mountains and scenes
of growth and decay
of seasons a before
and after youth
before old ages
set in or up or down
which ever comes
first yet none-the-less
arrives in its own time
as the rails click alone
like a clock a background
never-ending record
a needle stuck in a
grove in a fast rumble
echoes besides the
empty seeming hills
so not quite as one

could believe in
being isolated even
if the tribal villages
look so natural so
forlorn except for
the strong presence a
feeling perceived at a
distance as it too
escapes. receding to the
‘other’ or shared
experience almost in
a dream but perhaps
the dreamed historic
reality a reflection of
a reflection. waking too
from the nodding heads
lulled back to conscious-
ness in spite of that
crackling overhead speaker
the tanoy system
announcing “train doors
closing train about to
depart” –

sitting waiting for
ever it can seem
watching history zoom
by sensing the temporary
state of affairs geologically
transcending time and
place flicking in and
out of the here and
the now or tao of tea-
time wondering the
curious state of bilocation
being in two places at
once on an endless
sandy oasis floating –
the pico-fragmentary
parsecs whistling along
captured in our (hungry)
imaginations vivid with slightly
yet barely understood
physical recognition
a physics beyond our
ken or knowability

perhaps we are not
supposed to or some
such generalization
a convenience for being
on the train but not
a part of the tourist’s
package advertised in
southwestern global
experience and
marketing paraphernalia
merely an incidental
or accidental mission
imposed by circumstances
a fact of the matter
coincidentally: collateral
damage to the visitor’s
eyes or alluvial gaze on
unique indigenous culture barely
surviving the ages of
technology – yet to come
is the revival – despite
our carboniferous and
complicit interference

one thing is clear
as we chug along
in this marvel
of new Mexican
transportation
an altitude a mile
high on this subsidized
public railway cadenced
by the rise and fall
of presidential decree
and or providential
generosity the seven
dollars for a day return
ticket is a bargain
at any reckoning of
time space and distance
by healing the soul
what price to visit
a far and distant land
los otros for a w/e’s
jaunt across memorable
terrain an ancient
seabed disguising the
primeval remains hidden
for millennium

that sound four
times made at each
stop as we are about
to leave the station
must have a note of
road runner insinuated
and a modicum of
bugs bunny implied
because walt disney
hovers ghostly about
the white man’s idea –
even an echo – of
the ‘olde west’ in
film and folklore
song to cover his
intrusion and her
shame – redfaced
by a distant profusion
a giddy ride into
the nether world
gathered here in
collusion – mocking

some ancient wisdom
some sacred or sacrosanct
lore imbibing the iron
horse by incantation
an invocation to bury
the past along with
the hatchet and smoke
the peace pipe although
today in this new century
expectations of weed
or another new age
compound to expedite
the hallucinogenic high
or flights fantastic
enhancing the journey
both physical spiritual
slowing us down until
at last we finally come
to rest sweltering and
panting in this hot-house
out of the frying pan into
the fire at 100 degrees