Four Poems by Sam M. Archer

 

I Hear A Train

As I stand on the tracks I feel the hot air and smell the exhaust

I know one is coming for me

But I know not when, where, or how

Will I be staring it down?

Will it sneak up on me?

Or will it surprise us both?

There are times I think I see it

Waiting, Watching

Part of me is scared by it

I fear the impact

Knowing it will hurt

I fear the not knowing what will come after

If anything at all

I fear for the ones I will leave behind

Will there be any?

Where will I be?

When will I be?

I flinch as I hear a horn

Is it for me?

Now?

My blood runs cold and heart races

I breathe in and hold the breath I think will be my last and as the wind howls past me

Blowing my hair in my face

I'm still here

I'm fine

Most of me doesn’t care

It's not that I want to die

I just don’t want to fear the inevitable

If I do

I’ll stop moving again

I suppose in the end it matters not

There is nothing I can do to stop it

And in a way

That brings me comfort

There are some that sit on the tracks

Too scared to move 

Some run to where they think their train will be

Others can’t wait

And beat it to the punch

I don’t blame them

I've been there myself

Even still there are times I wish I could lie down and not wake up again

Forever falling in the void of my mind

I try not to fear death or chase it

There are things to do

Places to see

People to meet

And just maybe

In the end

I am not on the track

But on a platform

Waiting to visit an old friend

The Train Is Getting Closer

I hear the horn screaming louder in my ears

Like warning sirens

The chugging of the engine thrumming in tune with drums

I’ve heard this song before

It’s a simple broken melody played through scratched records

A grey screen projector flashing images of days past mixing with days present

Looking around

I see the writing on the wall

In history book stories

And deeply intertwined with my own predictions

The days tick by

Every news channel viewing 

Proving my mind was right

While the doors to my station close

I take a leap

Knowing before long the chance will be gone

Even with landing I can’t let out my breath

As questions run rampant within me

Was this the right choice?

Did I pick the right place?

What train do I wait for now?

The Joy of Creativity 

Not knowing what to write

The words won’t word in a way I would like

I stare at my screen

I type and type

Groan

Backspace

Type again

I think even my keyboard is getting bored

I take a brake

Have a snack

Chug an energy drink

Hoping that will give a pep in my step

Type some more

I still don’t like

Time for a sigh

Ah, creativity

Part pleasure

Part pain

Mostly pain if I write true

Oh, how I love it and hate it at the same time

Hunter’s Moon

The moon sits high in the sky

Staring down like an eye

Wide and unblinking

Lighting my path 

Showing me the way

My feet stalking forward

Thumping silently against the grass

My prey laying unaware

Humming a simple tune while painting pictures out of stars

With a lunge my arms find their waist

Making them squeal with laughter as my lips find their neck

“I win” I whisper

“You’re late” They reply

Sam M. Archer was born and raised in Texas, in the town of Saginaw just outside of the Dallas-Fort Worth area but is currently living on the southwest coast of Ireland, in the town of Kenmare. They have a love of reading, writing, gaming and crochet, but are also currently learning how to knit and to play dungeons and dragons. Due to the recent pressing events in America, they are in Ireland seeking asylum. Their poems address personal mental health issues and the experience of dealing with them. They live with D.I.D. (Dissociative Identity Disorder) and are agender. As well as writing poetry they are also working on a fantasy novel. They are a founding member of The Poet’s Shout, a poetry collective based in Kenmare.