Dixie Cannonball Writen By Vaughn Horton

Writen by vaughn horton
Key of e demo made by hank williams 1949
This is on the 10cd box set.
(e) im aheadin back to dixie,
Thats the (a) place I long to (e) be,
Where the (a) cotton grows and the (e) swanee flows,
Thats (f#7) home sweet home to (b7) me,
(e) where they meet you and they greet you,
With the (a) sweetest how you all,
Well (e) shut my mouth, Im aheadin south,
On the (b7) dixie cannon- (e) ball.
Chorus:
(e) on the dixie cannonball, on the (a) dixie cannonball,
Just (e) listen to the whistle, itll (f#7) thrill you one and (b7) all,
And I (e) know theres some one waitin, with the (a) sweetest how you all,
Well (e) shut my mouth, Im aheadin south, on the (b7) dixie cannon- (e)
Ball.
(e) when I cross them smokey mtns. Ill be (a) countin every (e) mile,
When the (a) whistle blows, Ill be on my (e) toes,
And Ill (f#7) shuffle down the (b7) aisle,

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song performed by Hank Williams
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Ebony Life

A frightening stillness will mark that day
And the shadow of streetlights and fire-alarms will exhaust the light
All things, the quietest and the loudest, will be silent
The suckling brats will die
The tugboats the locomotives the wind will glide by in silence
We will hear the great voice which coming from far away will pass over the city
We will wait a long time for it
Then at the rich man's time of day
When the dust the stones the missing tears
form the sun's robe on the huge deserted squares
We shall finally hear the voice.
It will growl at doors for a long while
It will pass over the town tearing up flags and breaking windowpanes.
We will hear it
What silence before it, but still greater the silence
it will not disturb but will hold guilty will brand and denounce
Day of sorrows and joys
The day the day to come when the voice will pass over the city
A ghostly seagull told me she loved me as much as I loved her
That this great terrible silence was my love

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poem by Robert Desnos
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Thoughts of love and fear

The thoughts behind thoughts
Binary rays of love and fear
Projected into the prism of experience
Rainbows of emotion swaying in waves of colour

Love of Love
Cosmic thoughts spiralling helical through my city streets
Dancing alone
Thinking alone
With the radio

Love of Fear
Locomotive thoughts lined up on rails
Squeezing steam into the night
Pumping acrid whooshes of smoke

Fear of Love
Thoughts spiralling down like water
Into the black hole of my bathtub
Feeding underground rivers of darkness

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poem by Shahid Solomon
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Assembly Line Policies

Assembly line policies
Fixed to produce a mindset
Of one for all and all for one
Thought process
And does not encourage
A diversity of inclusion
Is just a waste of output

Discouraging thinking independently
Succeeds an increase of laziness
That decreases motivation
And any comparison to a yesterday
Is an attempt to try to save a snowflake
In the midst of Summer's heat

Paralysis with analysis
Does not a progress heed
With ancient rusted deeds
Dusting in the winds of change
With those hoping a locomotive

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Artificer

Burning, he walks in the stream of flickering letters, clarinets,
machines throbbing quicker than the heart, lopped-off heads, silk
canvases, and he stops under the sky

and raises toward it his joined clenched fists.

Believers fall on their bellies, they suppose it is a monstrance that
shines,

but those are knuckles, sharp knuckles shine that way, my friends.

He cuts the glowing, yellow buildings in two, breaks the walls into
motley halves;
pensive, he looks at the honey seeping from those huge honeycombs:
throbs of pianos, children's cries, the thud of a head banging against
the floor.
This is the only landscape able to make him feel.

He wonders at his brother's skull shaped like an egg,
every day he shoves back his black hair from his brow,

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poem by Czeslaw Milosz
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Bologna: A Poem About Gold

Give me this time, my first and severe
Italian, a poem about gold,
The left corners of eyes, and the heavy
Night of the locomotives that brought me here,
And the heavy wine in the old green body,
The glass that so many have drunk from.
I have brought my bottle back home every day
To the cool cave, and come forth
Golden on the left corner
of a cathedral's wing:

White wine of Bologna,
And the knowing golden shadows
At the left corners of Mary Magdalene's eyes,
While St. Cecilia stands
Smirking in the center of a blank wall,
The saint letting her silly pipes wilt down,
Adoring
Herself, while the lowly and richest of all women eyes
Me the beholder, with a knowing sympathy, her love

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poem by James Arlington Wright
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Puzzles

Immense is God's love for men that
He not only keeps them companied
But amused and entertained
Through his ubiquitous
Puzzle games intricately
worked out for them
..in the sky, in the oceans,
In the mountains.... everywhere
If only they care to seek them out.
To boost their enthusiasm
In this mind racking tournament,
A rich reward awaits
Each puzzle solved
As can be seen from
Watt's answer to his rattling kettle
That won us the locomotive
Or Jenner's answer to the
Uninfected dairymaids that
Won us the vaccine for smallpox
Or Fleming's answer to the growth

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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Locomitive Breath

In the Shuffling madess
of the locomotive breath,
runs the all time loser,
headlong to his death.
He feels the piston scraping
steam breaking on his brow
old Charlie stole the handle and the
train won't stop going
no way to slow down.
He sees his children jumping off
at stations one by one.
His woman and his best friend
in bed and having fun.
Crawling down the corridor
on his hands and knees
old Charlie stole the handle and
the train won't stop going
no way to slow down.
He hears the silence howling
catches angels as they fall.

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song performed by Jethro Tull
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Pestilent Man

His heart beat like a racketeer
Pounding into his chest
He moved like a steam powered locomotive
Sweat spilled out of his skin
His limbs exploded onto the ground like long missiles
His determination was running at full speed
One guy was on the ground in front of him
Two guys were violently bulgeoning
the young man with kicks in repetion
The man ran at the young people and cried out,
'Hey stop, stop! '
The two misguided young ones ran off.
He asked the beaten fool what happened
he walked away not saying a word of thanks
Maybe this young ungrateful pestilent man
would have been killed if this had been allowed to continue
What a fool, I'm embarrassed to be apart of his race
But I'm not perfect
I too need to shed my imperfections
It was a personal territorial war to be sure

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poem by Cokbod Lodwogo
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Guitar's Gravitational Groove

For Stefan and Kyle

Old acoustics that whimper and moan,
harmonics in tune with the ghosts of
homesick hounds, up all night
haunting the locomotive's nocturnal cargo.
Phantom voyagers at high tide,
singing Atlantis' lost treasures
and untold epics of the sea.
The starry horizon's lacquered eyes
crying dry twangy tears
over the harbor at midnight

the jungle's liquid thunder voodooo
channeled in amazonian currents
flowing through the blood

electric hands pass lightning streaks
'cross smooth wired neck
emitting warped metallic supernova soundwaves:

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poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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The Journey

The Journey

Written by: Wilfred Mellers, Tuesday, November 9,2010 @ 6: 31 PM

Billfold empty filled with lint

Text so small I have to squint

Puzzled by questions without a hint

For the finish line I have to sprint

Perilous trod without a blueprint

Following shades of shadows setup for a stint

Chewing on my last stick of spearmint

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poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Locomotive Breath

In the shuffling madess
Of the locomotive breath,
Runs the all-time loser,
Headlong to his death.
He feels the piston scraping --
Steam breaking on his brow --
Old charlie stole the handle and
The train wont stop going --
No way to slow down.
He sees his children jumping off
At the stations -- one by one.
His woman and his best friend --
In bed and having fun.
Hes crawling down the corridor
On his hands and knees --
Old charlie stole the handle and
The train wont stop going --
No way to slow down.
He hears the silence howling --
Catches angels as they fall.

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song performed by Jethro Tull
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Searching For Pittsburgh

The fox pushes softly, blindly through me at night,
between the liver and the stomach. Comes to the heart
and hesitates. Considers and then goes around it.
Trying to escape the mildness of our violent world.
Goes deeper, searching for what remains of Pittsburgh
in me. The rusting mills sprawled gigantically
along three rivers. The authority of them.
The gritty alleys where we played every evening were
stained pink by the inferno always surging in the sky,
as though Christ and the Father were still fashioning the Earth.
Locomotives driving through the cold rain,
lordly and bestial in their strength. Massive water
flowing morning and night throughout a city
girded with ninety bridges. Sumptuous-shouldered,
sleek-thighed, obstinate and majestic, unquenchable.
All grip and flood, mighty sucking and deep-rooted grace.
A city of brick and tired wood. Ox and sovereign spirit.
Primitive Pittsburgh. Winter month after month telling
of death. The beauty forcing us as much as harshness.
Our spirits forged in that wilderness, our minds forged

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poem by Jack Gilbert
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Locomotive Breath

In the shuffling madess
Of the locomotive breath,
Runs the all-time loser,
Headlong to his death.
He feels the piston scraping --
Steam breaking on his brow --
Old charlie stole the handle and
The train won't stop going --
No way to slow down.
He sees his children jumping off
At the stations -- one by one.
His woman and his best friend --
In bed and having fun.
He's crawling down the corridor
On his hands and knees --
Old charlie stole the handle and
The train won't stop going --
No way to slow down.
He hears the silence howling --
Catches angels as they fall.

[...] Read more

song performed by Styx
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The Gunslinger

He liked to walk around town
dressed up like his hero John Wayne
he would say 'Howdy pardners'
but us kids were told he was insane.
On his head he wore a big Cowboy hat
a toy pistol hung down by his side
'I'm the fastest gun in the West, he'd say
so you Injuns better run away and hide.'
My Mum said he wasn't the full ticket
meaning he was simple and not very bright
but I thought he was a proper Cowboy
who was on his way to a real gunfight.
'Where you tied up your Horse? '
some people would sarcastically say
but the Cowboy would calmly reply,
' I came here on the Iron Horse today.'
So he wasn't a real Cowboy just an eccentric
who was no more a Gunslinger than me
but he never meant anybody any harm
he was just a pretend Cowboy from Coventry!

poem by Kevin Halls
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Music

If I rest for a moment near The Equestrian
pausing for a liver sausage sandwich in the Mayflower Shoppe,
that angel seems to be leading the horse into Bergdorf's
and I am naked as a table cloth, my nerves humming.
Close to the fear of war and the stars which have disappeared.
I have in my hands only 35c, it's so meaningless to eat!
and gusts of water spray over the basins of leaves
like the hammers of a glass pianoforte. If I seem to you
to have lavender lips under the leaves of the world,
I must tighten my belt.
It's like a locomotive on the march, the season
of distress and clarity
and my door is open to the evenings of midwinter's
lightly falling snow over the newspapers.
Clasp me in your handkerchief like a tear, trumpet
of early afternoon! in the foggy autumn.
As they're putting up the Christmas trees on Park Avenue
I shall see my daydreams walking by with dogs in blankets,
put to some use before all those coloured lights come on!
But no more fountains and no more rain,

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poem by Frank O'Hara
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Telephone Directory

Mad Queen Aeronautical CorporationCyclone 3030Mad Queen Chemical CorporationGunpowder 3328Mad Queen Company for the Manufacture of Hand GrenadesGunpowder 8878Mad Queen Drug Store of Tonics and StimulantsDetonator 8808Mad Queen Dynamiting and Blasting CompanyRackarock 4196Mad Queen Express ElevatorsSpeedway 7898Mad Queen Fireworks CorporationHurricane 1144Mad Queen Garage for Vandals of the RoadSpeedway 3984Mad Queen Hospital for Electrifying the HeartCyclone 5679Mad Queen Jazz BandDetonator 8814Mad Queen Laboratory for the Manufacture of AphrodisiacsGunpowder 0090Mad Queen Lighting and Fuel CorporationGunpowder 4301Mad Queen Manufacturers of High ExplosivesThunderbolt 4414Mad Queen Racing AutomobilesSpeedway 6655Mad Queen Rum DistilleryExplosion 1152Mad Queen SkyscrapersHurricane 7444Mad Queen Society for the Vivisection of the PhilistinesThunderbolt 8778Mad Queen Society of IncendiariesRackarock 2254Mad Queen Steam Locomotive CompanySpeedway 1010Mad Queen Steam Roller ManufacturersDetonator 1234Mad Queen Windmills and WeathervanesHurricane 0164

poem by Harry Crosby
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Locomotive Breath

[Jethro Tull]
In the shuffling madness
Of the locomotive breath
Runs the all time loser
Headlong to his death
And he feels the piston scraping
Steam breaking on his brow
Old Charlie stole the handle
And the train, it won't stop going
No way to slow down, oh
He sees his children jumping off
At stations one by one
His woman and his best friend
In bed and having fun
And oh, he's crawling down the corridor
On his hands and knees
Old Charlie stole the handle
And the train, it won't stop going
No way to slow down, oh
No way to slow down

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song performed by Helloween
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The Hot Season

THE folks, that on the first of May
Wore winter coats and hose,
Began to say, the first of June,
'Good Lord! how hot it grows!'
At last two Fahrenheits blew up,
And killed two children small,
And one barometer shot dead
A tutor with its ball!

Now all day long the locusts sang
Among the leafless trees;
Three new hotels warped inside out,
The pumps could only wheeze;
And ripe old wine, that twenty years
Had cobwebbed o'er in vain,
Came spouting through the rotten corks
Like Joly's best champagne.

The Worcester locomotives did
Their trip in half an hour;

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poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Grave Sleeper’s Rest

I who slept... on a grave...
While of tender uncommon age.
Woke from sleep. With silent dead.
To turn mine eyes to heaven.

Tombstone lined neat ordered paths.
They stir not like living alive trees.
Moved not in brisk breath imbued breeze.
Moved not acres. Filled. Field stone piled hearts.

Avenues of possibilities hope. Buried through time.
Chimed their... lost dreams... through mine.
Memories preserved. Ghost imaged. Lives to speak.
Through impregnated. Imprints spectral. To speak.

Purpose dead love. Living requiem retro undefined.
Spoke pinnacles of stone, earth experience outlined.
Repentant city silence. Yearning. Dead so spoke.
Groaned heaven’s divine will. In hope aspiring longing.

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poem by Terence George Craddock
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