Stephen Sanders is an award-winning poet from Fort Worth, Texas. He writes in many voices. He has written modern poetry while serving as the President of the Fort Worth Poetry Society. His first book, "Characters: The Buffalo Soldier and Other Poems, contains, among other pieces, poetic tales of the West." He regularly appears as a member of the Seadog Slam, a pirate poetry group that performs at Renaissance festivals. Most recently, he writes as The Steampunk Poet and has published a volume of poetry in that genre. This book, all poems inspired, written or rewritten while traveling back and forth from Fort Worth to Dallas on the train, includes all of these various voices and more. Mike Baldwin, winner of two state level poetry manuscript contests, has this to say about Mr. Sander's work: "Steve Sanders has found a great concept for a fine compilation of poems. The variety of subjects and forms in this collection provides a kaleidoscope of poetic impressions, from comic to creepy to profound. I nominate Sanders as the current champion of the seldom-seen Triolet, but his treatment of the other forms he utilizes here is also masterful. Everyone should find something (probably many things) to like about this enticing book." In this book, you will find poems about nature and the nature of man; about monsters and the monsters we can all become; about love, and life, and a pirate Christmas in Tortuga. All written on a commuter train. Get a copy a read it on the train - the train from Hartford to New York, the train from Berlin to Frankfurt, or the train from Fort Worth to Dallas Here are a couple of samples: My Window You can see everything from the railway window. I thought I saw you walking down Bryan Street wearing your favorite watch cap and matching scarf. I know that's impossible but my heart leapt in place even as my mind sketched in the details of your passage. It's strange; I don't dream of you anymore but I still see you briskly walking between the brick and mortar canyons: confident, content, and cold. Hephaestus' Child Oh, World, can you hear me, shouting from the fire? "I am Hephaestus' child " Tirelessly working to lift you from the mire, Oh, World, can you hear me shouting? From the fire, My mechanical creations seek to inspire Your desire for a progress gone wild Oh, World, can you hear me? Shouting from the fire, "I am Hephaestus' child " Inspiration Every morning and every afternoon, I look for you on the train. It's not because of your short skirt or your thigh-high boots. It's not because of the Maltese Cross tattoed on the back of your hand. It's not because of the way you hold your book when you read or the way you move your hands when you describe the path your dog took to the other side of the couch in your den. Is it because of the manic way you abuse your cell phone or whatever your chosen electronic device that you wear to fend off human contact? Perhaps its your gentle snore; your moment of peace in our commute. I know a part of it is the ease you bring to my labors and the smile you bring to my soul. I need you to get through this and, whether you know it or not, you sometimes answer my call and draw me farther and farther away from shore. A Day Away Just for today, let the sword gather rust; it will not, overnight, dissolve to dust. Just for today, lay down your solemn quest; you well-deserve a day of healing rest. A blade that is honed bright everyday may not blunt but will slowly fade away. The troll under the gray mountain will wait. There is no need for hastening your fate. Stop; say a prayer; cherish a good friend; rest from reading before the story's end.