Forged in time, forgotten, forged from sweat, know-how, and steal, out of necessity to service
man, to transport.
Now gone, even most memories, and those old enough to remember gone too, nothing left but
raised hills, a few repurposed buildings, pictures and articles microfilmed in basements of town
libraries and newspapers.
I stand where tracks once ran and think of miners and mines and families of miners waiting,
watching, hoping for loved ones to return from a day's work, of a time before phones, before
safe working conditions, of trains, and bars, and boom towns.
YOU ARE READING
Red Dirt Poems
PoetryA collection of hard fought thoughts and words composed through 30 some years of searching for stories in dive bars and empty bottles, across plains, hills, bayous and mountains of the midsouth - through lonerdom, loss and love. I have lived my life...
