Best Tunnels Poems
On trains
on trains
trains that travel through tunnels of ambiguity in delusion
The rectangular motion of the subtle wheels meld into the subconscious
A failed and flawed and fragrant commuter routine of blood sweat and ignorance.
And ignorance of blood and sweat and tears
and tears of blood sweat in ignorance
Outside fragmented windows stand the borders of disease that border humanity as a whole
Humanity is a disease some would say
some would say it isn't.
A chaotic jumble of envy and spiritless ineptitude is all that I can view in the darkness
We all roll into the station whilst time grinds still but in the precious seconds we can't
keep still.
Forged and tattered tickets to oblivion checked by the conductor of greed.
We all conduct greed at some point in our life
We just need a nudge and a wink to get back on track.
The end of the line stretches into infinite divergences.
And on another platform somewhere stands a man who looks just like me
And who smiles just like me
And who cries just like me
But maybe he will not die quite like me
And maybe if we met he would not like what he sees in me.
come,
my darling
grab your desires
put on your dreams
let's build a wall
together, you and I,
alongside the border
between the time zones
some will call it pure insanity
to find nothing but each other
in tunnels we'll later dig
under that same wall
as we escape time
for a new reality.
On trains that travel through tunnels of ambiguity.
The motion of the wheels meld into the subconscious.
A commuter routine of blood sweat and ignorance.
Outside fragmented windows stand the borders of disease.
A chaotic jumble of envy and spiritless ineptitude.
Roll into the station whilst time grinds still.
Tickets to oblivion checked by the conductor of greed.
End of the line stretches into infinite divergences.
With a screech like an owl that lives in the park;
It moves like a shadow from out of the dark.
While repeating the stories that come to their ears;
There in the tunnel a vision appears.
Running like rodents, scrambling for cheese;
They repeat all their stories like a spreading disease.
Thoughtlessly selfish, the frightened recite;
And there’s no joy in mud vile, not here not to night
Iron monsters
with bearded men astride,
stir a whirlwind
crashing past me howling warnings
then evanesce into silence.
A man dressed
like an angel
concludes by saying, "take care"
before sallying forth
down the long cement block corrider.
I walk through the tunnel,
surrounded by multicolored tubes.
Figures in uniforms grow near then diminish
into vanishing point
entrances to new encounters.
Tunnels we all live in, like rodents.
Small or big, wide or
narrow, running from
one to another ; in
search of facilities,
comfort and everything
one needs badly to live, in this
highly demanding world of consumerism.
Actually, it is not that bad, at least,
I am not a Philosopher
who pose questions
before making all
deeds for survival
be it right or wrong. Just
say, how can I live a royal life
being a philanthropist. It's impossible.
Even lions prefer to live in caves.
That too is a tunnel.
They hunt - I steal.
Lifestyles differ
but we still
coexist. Ultimately,
survival matters. So, what say you?
26.04.2018
The tunnels on Elizabeth street.
Working for 20 hours straight, feet in pain, body bruised, hands cut up, shoes ruined
the rest of New York will never see the early blue morning
walking homes cause the cabs are not in service, buses are but not enough change
behind the deck of labor I crush trash as the rest of the east village tips me in pity, and yet put me in my place
this is adulthood, choosing labor to forget leisure weekends
its cold early in the morning when I walk through the tunnels where the homeless sleep on Elizabeth street
the cardboard forts that capture the loss of hope
cautious the tunnels are in the early blue mornings, in my ruined shoes I walk them.
The moon shone on the water
Dyed ochre by the iron mines.
Centuries of men have toiled
In trenches and in chines.
Carving through the sheer rock face
To tunnel under hills
Canals to link the land of wealth
To the cities of the mills.
Airless channels deep below
While all above is calm
And death could be a breath away
Placed in the way of harm.
Pick and shovel toiled away
Through millstone grit and stone
Canals for coal to fuel the kilns
Firing plates for every home.
And now two hundred years or more
Have passed and times have altered
For Instead of barges lain with coke
Are cruisers strewn with boaters.
The working boats have been replaced
By holidaymakers vessels
And the tunnel stands as testament
To the stone masons true mettle.
The light at the end of my tunnel was merely a lamp plugged into the wall; sitting juxtaposed on the hard cement floor. I took a seat next to it, letting my skin absorb it's small cloud of light. In my head I knew that eventually this lightbulb would burn out, and leave me in the dark. But it was a reminder of how good it felt to feel light on my skin...so I stood up, and I kept walking...
Stones which were laid centuries ago line our path
The past comes alive once more in these stones
Millenia have passed since these stones were laid
One can almost feel the sweat and toil it took to lay them
The years have changed us
But some things remain unchnaged
The power that draws people to this ancient city
Has kept us safe and will keep us safe in the future
Our livesd are bound to the lives of the ancients
Their strggles, their lives were not in vain
The years will prove this to be true
The worshippers continue to pray at the
Kotel and in the tunnels below
concrete existence
echo in emptiness as
the night turns powdered steel rouge
lost in the labyrinth
passage in shadows of deep tones
8/14/2019
Poetry Contest: SECOND EDITION OF WAYRA
Sponsored by: Nette Onclaud
The beginning is the same as the end.
Coming into this place, waiting to transcend.
We come out of our mother's womb,
seeing if we get that chance to bloom.
No matter if you believe or are existential,
We will always try to be the quintessential.
While you're here, see what life is about, don't resist.
One day you'll look back on everything you missed.
You have to know that you can't live if you're afraid of death.
So try and take that chance while you still have a breath.
When I leave here, I'll know there was nothing more I could have gave.
But don't think I'm going to go quietly into my grave.
When that day is here, and its time for me to raise.
I'm not going easy, I'm sliding into my grave sideways.
With a candy bar in one hand and a beer in the other.
So there is no way you'll mistake me for another.
I just want to say one thing when these worlds collide,
I'm gonna scream, whoo hoo, what a ride.
way down deep
in the tunnels of my soul
hide the thoughts and feelings
that I have never shown
like a vortex in the ocean
with no ending it begins
circling always circling
as my mind continues to spin
as the hands sweep on a clock
I try to brush them all aside
they keep swimming to the surface
washed in with the high tide
the wall with cracks and fissures
that weakens as I dream
returning when I wake
pebble ripples in a stream
Tunneling through nightscapes,
weightless moon doll escapes.
Collapsing space-time,
the pages and pages,
of fluttering windblown stages
in quantum nonlocality,
a graphic novel engages.
Burrowing through dystopian nocturne,
the night traffic gives us heartburn.
In magical claytronics, everyone is reassembled,
reincarnated by cosmic consciousness,
a karmic cautiousness, a persistence of
endless distance but finite parallel.
We see the light out of this tunnel.
Can we make the quantum leap?
Casting aside ego, agency falls away as
subject and object merge. These urban
alleys meander in uncharted charcoal
where moonlight and streetlight converge.
Karmic propensities, the good and bad
conditioning restrain us to this dingy dark.
Tunneling is tiring when there is no end,
like remembering ourselves in past lives,
and knowing who we will be in coming times.
All of these identities, these storylines are explained
by the ground of being integral to all things.
This is the consciousness, the Dharma.
Near-death shows us the light beyond the tunnels,
beyond the grimy graphic novel, a liberation
beyond birth, death, and rebirth.
Quantum leap now to the luminous mind, the moksha,
the complete nirvana.
Tunnels cut through a mountain chain,
an unending chain,
a chain that binds;
that twists and turns on itself again,
delivering pain
and darkness that blinds.
At the end of each there is a hope,
a ray of light to which you grope.
When you reach it at tunnel’s end
the next begins as if to portend
the coming of others, unending nights.
The mouth of one the other bites.
As you slip into this endless void
you turn right back trying to avoid
the pitch of blackness and faster than fast,
your wheels turn and pistons thrust,
until the image of the turning wheel
first slows down and then stands still.
It starts again, but spinning back
taking you deeper into the black.
Your whole life becomes this blur,
past, present, future become a slur
and the yearn for eternal rest
becomes a fantasy, a dream at best.
Tunnels cut through a mountain chain,
an unending chain,
a chain that binds,
that twists and turns through another plain
through the living brain
of unsound minds.