Best Septa Poems
Loves the Dead
My mother loves the
dead she has a curious
fascination with the
dead.
She loves to attend
the funerals of
family members
and even strangers.
My mother is the
first person to call
and talk endless
about the dead.
Does not matter if
she does not know
these dead people
but she cries tears
of sorrow as if she
does.
If she could be
hired at wakes as a
professional mourner
she would be a
millionaire because
she is very
convincing.
But at the family
funerals she is very
animated.
My mother is the one
to watch because she says
that she is going to
jump in the coffins of
this cousin or that
aunt or that
brother-in law or
sister.
My mother loves to
watch the local news
programs for news about the
dearly departed and
then she makes arrangement to
attend the funerals.
Once she took three
Septa buses to attend the funeral
of a little girl who died across
town in North Philly.
Another time she
attended the funeral
of a house itself.
She heard about a
run-down house that
was to be eulogized
and given a funeral
by local community
activists.
She said the food
was delicious
She is known for doing the hair of
the dead in the family.
I wondered if my
mother missed her
calling by not
working in the
industry.
My mother just loves
the dead she is very
emotional when a
family member dies.
My sister drives her
to the hospital or
the funeral home
because she must
view the dead body.
She said they look
like they are
asleep.
My mother loves to
talk about the dead
with one exception
that of her own
mothers’ who died young and
left my mother behind
with her own six children.
Recently with loses
in the family.
My mother is re-living her
mother’s death.
The wooden brown
coffin and the blue
night gown
and matching blue
shoes and the
painted on red lip
stick.
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Break,break,break on the cold,gray septa
(the veil is ripped and so am I)
\Fern sundered amongst the
Daffodils,dandelions and diadems tarnished
With the oxidation of time and tide
That waits for no man.
\Well here I am
The littlest seraph of Sodom
(what did they do in Gomorrah?)
Blow horns and sack butts
Tan-ta-ra
The epitome of epiphanies awaits
And Gabriel - you go play in the other room.
It was a domestic pain,
when we came apart in boots and helmets.
Taking the shine away, moon gave up the fight
on lake, against the clouds, a sniper
intuitingly, started a homicidal blasting
to start the rains.
An ode to sepia needs scrutiny;
cuttlefish had a second thought. No faith
permits the slaughter of septa. Walls were squinting
to see better. A square root will find the squall,
between the breaths. Beyond arousal of oceans
a shaken, surreal, blast from a craven rifle.
Satish Verma
Can somebody please give this uber **** fuller a lyft?
alternately titled: jump starter for clunky, junky,
quirky, xyz mechanic wanted in tow tow -
chassis what I mean?)
As the proud graduated
honorably rolled 2009 Hyundai
Sonata vehicular property
belonging to a mister
and missus Matthew Harris
(fifty shades of gray
if that makes any difference),
I experience nervous
rack and pinion quaking
shimmying, whining, and zipping
also twittering, shuttering,
linkedin kickstarting powertrain
even before chugging,
huffing, puffing, spewing...
like magic dragon along boulevard
of broken automotive debris
regarding upcoming
emission/inspection
due before stroke of midnight
August 31st, 2019
last year this time...
aye yie yie...
oil my pan, a major overhaul
comprising driver side suspension
engendered shock,
I...could not absorb
even now, yours truly strut er ers...,
and doth recoil scary undertaking
smattering of months thereafter,
(I wheely cannot engine ear
recalling exact amount of time)
what in the name of... car nation...
then... driver side rear brake assembly
required replacement
giving said owners run off
Golden Gate Bridge for their
newfound moneyless rendered situation
(ex post facto new battery got installed)
sorry to zap at greased lightning speed
and (mane lee) take lion's share
of social security electronic deposit,
(what with fuel tank filler ups,
and insurance - no matter
Nationwide always on my side)
understandable decent folks
would prefer to steer me
off cliff side, but
my dear friend SEPTA
doth not cam into hinterland
namely Schwenksville, Pennsylvania,
thus imposing prohibitive dollars
tooling them around
mainly medical appointments,
cuz at ten plus years old,
and odometer clicking away...
mechanical malfunction,
could diesel lee, axle dent tully
risk life and limb,
thus park my exhausted words
this fellow gas guzzling,
motoring, rotating tire
screeching hot rods...
ole clunker auto know,
but hates tappet cob Bosch,
and get cha piston off...,
but tread carefully,
and curry big stick shift.
It was a domestic pain,
when we came apart in boots and helmets.
Taking the shine away, moon gave up the fight
on lake, against the clouds, a sniper
intuitingly, started a homicidal blasting
to start the rains.
An ode to sepia needs scrutiny;
cuttlefish had a second thought. No faith
permits the slaughter of septa. Walls were squinting
to see better. A square root will find the squall,
between the breaths. Beyond arousal of oceans
a shaken, surreal, blast from a craven rifle.
Satish Verma
Never to discover
the limits of soul
Such is the depth
of its station
The nature of being
not what’s distilled
But what’s left
— from evaporation
(Septa R5: March, 2025)
Tapering to a point
time pierces the veil
Unharvested moments
a gardener’s tale
Dug from the furrows
a voice has been freed
Whose final word spoken
—eternity’s seed
(Septa R5: June, 2023)
When you have money
the world stops to listen
The content no matter
gratuity bound
The dollars indulgent
as charlatans glisten
Self-interest the mantra
— with greed to compound
(Septa R5 Train: January, 2025)
That ulcer
in his
consciousness
bleeding
to be heard
A canker
of a
muted past
abscessing
every word
Cold sores
of detention
that fade
but never
cure
A virus
of his
hopes and dreams
recurring
— untoward
(Septa R5 Train: May, 2024)
Intellectual larceny
the academic elite
Immune from indictment
inured and effete
They swing their false knowledge
like weapons to maim
The truth left in ashes
— their lies to inflame
(Septa R5: February, 2024)
Seeing — Unseeing
the words drift away
far into the current
of what’s left to say
Passing my cortex
and into the void
where blind recognition
awaits to destroy
Familiar or foreign
once stopped in their tracks
new meaning escapes
with no looking back
The Poet’s eyes squinting
as light filters out
transcendence recaptured
ascendance remounts
Through slivering darkness
a vision appears
and mocking the order
old images clear
Those words once discarded
reform juxtaposed
through eyes resurrected
— released from the flow
(Septa R5: July, 2024)
Paint in your heart
the colors symphonic
Images dancing
each note brushed with fire
Clapping and cheering
rhythmatic ovations
The prisms last opus
—concerto’s desire
(Septa R5: December, 2023)
Bending a breaking point
rupturing time
Eons of history
skirting the line
Paradox native
our true D.N.A.
Truth as a concept
forever in play
Yessing and noing
transfixed in between
The jester in transit
all canons demeaned
Freeing the moment
the first wedded last
a twist to the turning
—where memory contrasts
(Septa R5 To 30th Street: August, 2023)
On the back side of deliverance,
our paths fated to cross
Your road going toward the light,
my direction all but lost
You stopped and turned toward me,
looking deeply in my eyes
Pity mixed with latent fear
—my fate so redefined
(Septa R5: February, 2020)