Email Poem

Your IP Address: 18.217.65.73
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
It’s Christmas Eve, Babe
In the car pound
It shouldn’t be this way
Should not have been found

But I’m the lucky one
I am the thirteenth one
And when I got a scare
I hi-tailed out of there

But everywhere I went
It seems a ghoul was sent
Until I smashed my cab
With one unholy dent

So happy Christmas
My wife and baby
I have to leave you now
And that’s no maybe…

I’ve got lungs that are punctured from ribs that are broke
A spectre glared at me and called me a joke
I should have completed that line up that day
To comprehend fate would always have his way

                  *

Twas on Christmas Eve in two-thousand-and-one
Twelve yellow cab drivers at down of the sun
They waited in line just outside Central Park
And sat, engines idling, until it was dark

But where they went when they went, nobody knew
Those cabs disappeared without leaving a clue
Yet twenty years on during each Christmas new
Don’t hail yellow cabs or you’ll disappear too

It’s crazy, it’s hazy, a bell tolled aloud
And New York cab drivers found thirteen’s a crowd 
Till voices, malignant and laden with spite
Said, “Fear not the water; the ice shall not bite.”

For years hacks have dug but their efforts are thwarted
For little is known and far less is reported
One night on his iPhone from inside the park
One Journo’s last words were, “Sod this for a lark!”

Don’t enter the park in the depths of the night
It’s more than just baddies that hide out of sight
It might not be muggers that give you a fright
If that was the problem they’d lock it up…. Right?

But rumours like tumours spread like baby boomers
Resulting in whispers from some doom and gloomers
So now I bring word and it’s slightly absurd
But when I’m gone please tell the world what you’ve heard…

That twelve police divers found twelve taxi drivers
In twelve sunken taxis, that’s twelve non survivors
In Central Park’s lakes with their feet off the brakes
Of twelve rotting drivers, just one re-awakes

That Yellow cab driver was not a survivor
But turned his head slowly to wink at the diver
The diver recoiled and soon riddled with fears
Kept asking how sunken men still can shed tears

And yet as twelve taxis were hauled from the drink
Detectives were left with no clue what to think
Twelve zip up bags lay, side by side, straight and neat
But each long lost driver had gone from his seat

And that’s when it started, those dearly departed
Set out to relocate their loves broken hearted
Some say that they wander in search of their wives
Who if found ‘in company’ soon lose their lives

But those cabs retrieved that were riddled with rust
Some fifteen years later were finally crushed
Yet parapsychologists try to keep tabs
On twelve phantom drivers in twelve phantom cabs

And now the Big Apple is too scared to sleep
In Grand Central Station the fears now run deep 
The whispering walls that now whisper aloud
Are screaming out threats that the dead have avowed

On Fifth Avenue men with half rotted faces
And clothes that are sodden take shambling paces
They stumble their way into unprepared places
And innocent people become murder cases

                  *

And the boss of the NYPD said
Just file it all away
We must not ladle fear on Christmas Day

                  *

A distant bell now tolls
It’s called so many souls
It seems that finally
Its waters beckon me

And so my final act
To spell out every fact
I testify to you
So do what you must do

From now there will be seen
What should have always been
One more man - slimy green
And phantom cabs… thirteen

                  *

And the boss of the NYPD says
Just file it all away
We must not ladle fear on Christmas Day
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required