Best Commuters Poems
1#
Brewed tea
Wife and myself
Nothing between us
2#
He was metamorphosed
Into a frog
When his wife had left him
3#
I needed
A lonely woman
Thousand years back
4#
She shivered
In yellow sun
Struck by her coyness
5#
God travels
With three suitcases
One for me
6#
I kissed
Her frostiness
And my lips turned icebergs
7#
The bed
Gets embarrassed
At our nakedness
8#
Her hands
Stopped me
To pick evenings
9#
We two rested
In a cave of Kundalini
Behind the waterfall
10#
The alien woman
Travelled six moons
To deliver her baby in a burial ground
11#
An eagle swoops
On a field –mouse
Tables of wedding
12#
The woman kissed me
I felt her hollow ribs
As if in a spring dream
13#
The woman’s hair
Struck by a gale
Made waterfalls
14#
My wife locked
Me one fine evening
In my neighbour’s hole
15#
The rats are away
When mice take in
My wife’s clammy face
16#
The summer rain
In exasperation
Took wings to raid the moon
17#
Lolo my wife
Her green sleek steps
Thundered an innocent fly
18#
In the dead of night
God made two wives
One for me one for my neighbour
19#
My neighbour’s wife
Delivered a child
When I was asleep
20#
The woman said goodbye
And I took a fish for dinner
I mistook it for my wife
21#
My wife is a canvas
Where I paint
My forebodings
22#
A painter’s apprentice
In sheer foolishness
daubed in red my wife’s rear-view
23#
A squirrel saw my wife
And in haste
Lost her guava
24#
I was caught in neighbour’s bedroom
By my wife last summer
I lost my glasses
25#
A wolf entered the graveyard
Unannounced
And annoyed my wife
26#
Sarah my wife
Lumbering
Dizzy commuters
27#
Sarah wed me
And in brief forgetfulness
Greeted my neighbour
28#
A tiger ate Sarah my wife
It happened by accident
The tiger knows
29#
Morning bell
Wake up call
I want to sleep
30#
Pola my pet fly
Fouled things up
She ate my wife’s breakfast
31#
My dog Pintu
Hydrophobia
I set him free on my wife’s posterior
32#
Eons ago a butterfly
Gave birth to my wife
Now, a caterpillar
33#
A hard slap
Stammering
Hurricane Sarah will win
34#
You have gathered enough winters
Woman sighs
Leave one for me
35#
The woman flapped her wings
To clouded mountaintops
Silky as white
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Categories:
commuters, god, grave, water, wedding,
Form:
Haiku
It resembles the London Underground inside my messed up mind
With a network of confusion
And Tracks that twist and Wind
Tunnels full of darkness
stations now disused
I don’t know where I’m coming from or where I’m going to
terrorists detonate their bombs of devastating hate
My trains delayed
signals are down
and now again I’m late
The Homeless have all given up
Theres Drunks full up with booze
Lost souls decide to take that step
What have they got to loose?
The Pigeons flap
leaves on track
Tourist’s are trying to navigate maps
Feel the wind as the train pulls in
Reluctant for my trip to begin
Carriage is crowded, we’re packed like sardines
Music is blaring from head phones of teens
There’s too many sights, there’s too many sounds
There’s really no room now
commuters wear frowns
I want to get off
I can’t take anymore
I’m searching for the emergency door
But it’s moving too fast as the world wizzes by
Holding my breath as I try not to cry
Feelings Of Turmoil inside my brain
A maze of disorder
I’m clearly insane
I long to escape from this madness and fear
The tannoy comes on
my station is near
I pick up my pills from the box by my bed
Swallow two whole and I lay down my head
When Will this torture ever cease?
My breathing slows down
And I’m feeling at ease
I slowly drift back now into calm
floating free until my alarm
Categories:
commuters, anxiety, confusion, depression, feelings,
Form:
Rhyme
Where have they gone?
Where have all the commuters gone?
Said an old Fox nuzzling my hand.
I usually hide and sleep during the day,
Not that I’m complaining you understand.
Where have all the motor cars gone?
Thought a Hedgehog crossing the road.
Usually I must run for my life,
To reach safety and family abode.
Where have all the children gone?
Cried the Ducklings down on the pond.
We haven’t been fed for weeks,
Of that stale bread, we are so fond.
Where have all the vapor trails gone?
Squawked Jackdaw high in his tree.
When I was bored, I could count the lines,
On a good day, fifty-two or fifty-three.
Where have all the Rat poisoners gone?
Gnawed a large rodent leaving his drain.
I am free to infest all your houses,
Causing havoc and crazed panic again.
Where have all the hunters gone?
Cooed Game-birds flying free and high.
No lunatics beating the bushes,
Compelling us to be blasted from the sky.
Where have all the people gone?
Cheered the animals reclaiming their land.
We normally stay out of your way,
The world is ours now, do you understand.
Categories:
commuters, animal, bird, freedom,
Form:
Rhyme
Why am I drawn
to this scowling girl
selling her poems
in a Shinjuku underpass?
Every Tuesday she is here,
next to a Nikon ad,
threatening commuters
with her cyclostyled angst.
Busy people keep up
with the times,
do a tap dance
on their smartphones.
Only drunks buy poetry.
Grubbing for their last,
sweaty coins, they
mock her with every purchase.
First published in Eclectica Magazine
Categories:
commuters, angst, business, city, courage,
Form:
Free verse
Cuckoo Dancers
Discarded dusty beer bottle lying dormant on the tracks
Commuters await their carriage
Adorned in business like macks
Trees sway in gentle breeze
Capable of more tension,
Performing their shedding of leaves
Far too many to mention.
Pigeon jumps on pigeon
Mating season for all to see,
Another squirrel scurries across the tracks,
Across leaves and debris.
Solitary heron surveys the scene,
The dance of the platform,
The cuckoo dancers ensue.
Discarded shower gel lies half empty on the tracks,
How this could have got there, no one can tell
One person steps forward to check for his train,
Another steps back with woeful refrain
This pattern continues to emphasise my point,
Stemming from this anxiety a new dance I anoint.
Discarded crisp packet bounces gently across the tracks
Reminding me very much of a man on the moon,
Station clock shows the train arrival is now late,
Man grunts, swings his brolly...he is clearly irate.
Discarded cigarette pack fades gradually on the tracks
Whilst woman fixes make up, man kills time by playing with his phone,
Amazes me how people just can't leave them alone!
Man lights his cigarette in a reluctant fashion,
His car has broken down and he hates public transport with a fervent passion.
A multitude of people are gathered here today,
Business attire the name of the day
A brief case, a brolly, a black bowler hat,
And in some extreme cases
A flasher mack and a comedy 'tache!
Suddenly in the distance
A growing light appears,
A communal silent sigh of relief
As the train begrudgingly nears
Man stubs out his cigarette
As the train makes its approach,
In anticipation of his selection of coach.
Discarded Autumn leaf floating lazily across the tracks,
The platform is now empty
Awaiting its latest cuckoo dance!
Copyright
S Rose
Categories:
commuters, fun, imagery,
Form:
Free verse
I can’t get behind the wheel, I’m disqualified
So I’m on the early morning train ride to the city
There are so many commuters, I join the throng
Down the street as I was drifting with the city's human tide.
We are packed like sardines crushed side by side
Makes me wish I’d never driven when blind drunk
It’s many years before I can get my licence back
Now I rely on trains or friends or take a taxi ride
I wish I could drive my car, that can’t be denied
But I got caught and ended up before the judge
Got banned from driving, I had to pay a huge fine
I’ve lost my good character; and my sense of pride
I began drinking heavily when my dear wife died
It spiraled out of control but I don’t deserve any pity
As being four times over the limit cannot be justified
Fiction poem for Contest
3. Down the street as I was drifting with the city's human tide.
03/09/20
Categories:
commuters, addiction, car, drink,
Form:
Rhyme
The sunset over Manhattan.
By Feo.
A thousand walks back and forth
a day, a thousand glance at the city bay.
A thousand memories locked at your post, a thousand daydreams I have dreamt in my winter coat.
My sanctuary, a bench that faces north towards the skyline, the vibrations of the commuters and passerby's just a minor distraction from my dreams of a reunion that I have lived and relived over and over that reality seems but just a distant memory.
Oh how I have dreamt of seeing you again,
Over and over till it feels true,
For I have never felt love till we made it,
The influence of this generation beat of ours, perhaps it wouldn't be poetic if we were to kiss again? Warm tears I have felt rolling slowly down my cheeks, like many poetic beats do, when they think of losing the influence that runs through there tragic memory.
The warmth,
a Manhattan sunset,
My bench that faces north to the city skyline,
That's where I'll be waiting,
To let you wipe my joyous tears away.
Categories:
commuters, i miss you,
Form:
Verse
Searching For Nothing
I like holidays when nothing is celebrated.
The streets are empty and Pigeons burst from cover
as I walk down wide boulevards, eagerly searching solitude.
No buses, no commuters, no human distractions to distort
my personal oblivion. Precisely this moment is what I crave,
free to squander empty thoughts, filled with nothing.
Then it floats into my head… where should I go?
well... anywhere is the answer I’m looking for. Then I’ve arrived
at my special place, where it all makes sense.
If I choose, I can walk across the busiest intersection,
only inspiration, crosses my path. Maybe head back across the
same street, and still, only possibilities enter my mind.
Solitude is purity… those Pigeons I startled earlier,
landed anywhere they wanted,
and so did I.
07/07/10
Categories:
commuters, imagination
Form:
Narrative
The events of last evening were such
that I awoke this morning to find
I was beside myself—
not metaphorically,
but in the most literal sense:
two versions,
one body short.
The mirror caught us first—
a flash of double movement
where there should have been one.
I blinked.
He didn’t.
Or maybe I didn’t.
It’s hard to say
when glass begins to lie.
We shared a glance,
the kind exchanged between commuters
who suspect they’ve boarded the wrong train
but are too polite to ask.
It seemed prudent
to seize the opportunity
for a discussion between ourselves—
a kind of internal summit
to determine the rhyme and reason
for our dilemma,
and sketch a path
toward reunification,
assuming it was worth the effort.
The other me—
slightly more rumpled,
possibly wiser—
suggested that last night’s self-reflection
had been too honest,
and that dreams,
when left unsupervised,
tend to rearrange the furniture.
We debated causation,
as one does:
Was it the unresolved metaphor
in that unfinished poem?
The hat and the boots,
still waiting for closure?
Or the quiet betrayal
of pretending to be whole
for the sake of social ease?
Outside, the morning
was already making demands.
Inside, we negotiated
terms of reentry—
no apologies,
no revelations,
just a mutual agreement
to pretend we were whole
until further notice.
I stood to leave,
feeling the weight shift
as the double lingered behind,
stuck in the mirror,
arms crossed,
expression unreadable.
The other me was unimpressed.
Categories:
commuters, introspection, irony, mirror, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
There once was a driver from Uber
Who really only owned a scooter
So when it rained
His passengers complained
So now he has no more commuters
Couldn't let a St Paddy's day go by without a wee limerick!!
Categories:
commuters, humorous, ireland, rain,
Form:
Limerick
Oh no! Train again!
Perched upon parallels of steel,
You roll your way on heavy wheels.
Thundering through town
With a rhythmic rattle and clickity-clack.
Your deep throat rumbles diesel black.
Cars convey a cargo of corn syrup,
Commuters and coal.
You are an ant trail of steel
Packing prizes from a picnic port.
You are the artery of America’s life blood.
--Four full sets of dominoes
Laid in one long row.
--A segmented serpent
Slithering on shining steel.
--A bright-eyed Cyclops screaming in the night,
Awakening children with a fright.
--A termite traveling through boroughs
Beneath the “Big Apple”.
You are the canvas of gangland graffiti
And ferry for freight hoppers
Who dare to hitch a ride.
A network linking limits sea to sea.
Now, rattle past, and make it fast.
I’ve places I should be.
Categories:
commuters, inspirational, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
MY AFRICA
A dusty street, commuters meet
A taxi crowded, a route decided
Street vendors sell, plastic from China
Fresh fruit, dead meat, flies from hell
A cellphone rings, a message pings
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Populations swell, polluted wells
Children dying, old man crying
Nobody cares, everyone stares
Gold, coal, a bloody diamond
Everything's traded, lives degraded
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Guns blazing, wars a raging
No rain, no grain, population with hunger pain
Wilderness retreats where humans meet
Malaria, mosquito born hysteria
Hyena calls, a lion roars
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Witchdoctor belief, the mans a thief
Muti making, money taken, knuckle bones shaken,
Throw the bones, skinny man quaking
Superstitious dread, powdered vultures head
Goats throat cut, ancestor pleasing
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Habitats shrinking, a duiker drinking
Rhino horn, elephants tusk, money lust
Charcoal making, our forests forsaken
Aids, ebola, a broken molar
Africa dying, nobody crying
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Dictator for life, a stupid wife
Life is cheap, broken bodies in a heap
A leopard coughs, a baboon bark
Gangsters fighting, drug addicts scoring
Corruption, consumption, businessmen laughing
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
The rains have come, a cowhide drum
Wildebeest mating, zebra migrating
The grass is green, landscape clean
Thunder clap, lighting strike, a stole bike
People sowing, maize a growing
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Choking dust, untamed lust
Political lies, rugby tries, meaty pies
Little round huts, kids in the dust
Fat cows, little black pigs, a cockerel crowing
Turtle dove calling, a blood red morning
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Categories:
commuters, africa, earth, people, drug,
Form:
Free verse
The last train to my destination
Sparsely crowded, seats unoccupied here and there
Its weariness is palpable, even the lights are blinking
A group of commuters remain huddled together
After the day’s hard work they prefer nodding upon each others’ shoulder
The train runs sleepily, now and again lights from outside
Flash upon the saint-like faces of the people inside
The train gradually slows down, presently it’s a stop
The platform receives some home bound bodies, someone
Jumps into the compartment carrying a group of young girls
They are perhaps returning from their school fest
They have revelled much, played and sang and danced
So rightfully they are tired, momentary rings on their mobiles
Are responded to, and then silence again
One of them suddenly opens up her eyes
The obscene nudge in her breast can not be mistaken
Can she protest? Would she…
Her meek eyes show helplessness
The lustful hand strikes again… she sobs…
All of a sudden a slap on the face of the rascal
Reverberates through the compartment, a woman in tattered clothes
Raises her finger to him, she’s one of them who go to the town
To earn their daily bread
Next halt, the girls get down
The blinking back light of the train disappears, leaving a trail of dust
Categories:
commuters, evil, horror,
Form:
Narrative
The restless night had ended
abruptly. Caught between dreams and
consciousness, the town was arching towards
the sprinkled light of dawn. A perpetual regularity
reigned over the dusty path that led wayfarers and commuters
alike in and out of this forgotten cluster of humanity. Somewhere
out there, a man cursed, and, as if to answer, a woman laughed. A
repetitive metallic clang—the whines of an iron plate being hammered upon an anvil—
twisted with a dog's tedious, short barking to form a discordant ladder of dread, telling how the day might turn out. Punctuating that were the weary shouts of
the night guard. An advice. A message. “Awake! Morning is here.” “Awake!
Morning is here.” A woman walked beside countless others in a long, silent
procession. Steps measured and heavy, hardly disturbing the dirt, eyes ever
forward, locked at the sunrise. Life hadn't been kind to her. At forty-five she
looked sixty. It was just her luck that age had been frivolous enough to come
early, and sketch a crude lesson at cubism across the pages of her skin. The
grey streams on her hair had become a roaring river of high
monsoon. The frozen, dark pools of her eyes had given way
to the smokestack dullness. On that day, like the day prior,
she had woken up with honks of a garbage truck out on the
street and drunk the cheap, inky tea that she
had made for herself and her son.
Bathing under a valveless tap, she
had put on her helmet, and set out.
The siren from the jute mill had blared
with an obscene loudness and promise.
She had to answer. She squared her shoulders
and trudged on, reeling back into the open maw of her
her slow, almost languid death, like a cassette on rewind.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Date: 31 / 12 / 2016
Categories:
commuters, aubade, death, humanity, life,
Form:
Concrete
Wonderful
I see the curves in the murky dawn
In the straight lines, lined up like pawns
I see the morning
In drunken sunshine
The life is so wonderful
Young and full of love
WONDERFULL
When you gaze at lovers pissing on waterfalls
I am neither impolite nor rude
Excuse the poetic ruse
If only.... if only
The clocks traveled backwards
If only you could know me
Yesterday
Once more I beg of you
Shout how wonderful I used to be
Aurore you were so wonderful
Me I was so pathetic
I sing to the morning commuters in the rain
About the sickness of lovers and cheaters pain
Wonderful
So wonderful to be here
If only the metro runs me over
The pathetic, I would be gone
Wouldn’t that be so wonderful?
Categories:
commuters, drink, paris, poems,
Form:
Lyric