Best Underground Poems
soak up the side streets of Montmartre,
Paris, Pigalle on Boulevard de Clichy
class less art combusts then drips
- street beggars & tourists cant
writer Rubbish pastes lace traceries
ala mode decoupaging decay
his cut-paper layers grace anoint
no longer anonymous walls
stencilist C215’s “simply a cat”
defies sourpusses not to smile—see
heaven art yes art with style
the banality of poverty held at bay
pureed souffléd life wolfed-down
colors synced
spray-cannoned Lothario’s like David Walker
entrance Picasso’s on the brink,
Romani-hearted paint peddlers
of the Republique
- street beggars & tourists cant
Thom Thom’s décollage rip-cuts
the billboard scene titillates the unseen
—culture-lovers—can-canned Lautrec’s
bedded with Che Guevara politics
come tilt with the masse
come play your part
in Montmartre
near Pigalle on Boulevard de Clichy
where wicked pissers defy
cliché
First Published in Clockwise Cat January 2015
Down in the dark
where we live and we breathe.
in a place where most,
could never believe.
Through the smoke and the dust
by our blood and the rust.
Hear the clanging of steel
and in your chest you can feel.
the rumbling of the ground
with it's menacing sound
for where no one has been
is where our treasures be found.
We truck and we toil
we muck and we moil.
May our luck it be royal
and not leave us
stuck in the soil.
For the path that we walk
which leaves us unseen
tucked far away
down in some machine.
Isolated from all
and free at our most
but not free at all
for the shadow
is always close.
Stalking and waiting
for mistakes you'll be making.
It's grip near your neck
reaching for a wreck
But you must be better
and play your cards right.
If you're gonna forever
live where it's night
and on the top of your head
is your one light
and your only chance,
to win this fight
So when the blast sounds off
and you can't chase that cough
when it's strange to see no dirt under your nails
and you no longer care,
for telling tales
Get yourself some sleep,
you'll be up with the sun.
Cause tomorrow.
There's much more work to be done.
what do you do when your enemies are friends
plot them against eachother?
hold them back for as long as you can
do you believe in revenge for the scar i left upon you i cannot heal?
i did not seek you out
its like a ghost story
but if your still haunted
if you are hiring people to visit me which i doubt
you are a queen of the underground
and i will never tell
what have you learned about your new power?
and how far down did you have to go to get revenge?
im sorry seriously i cried yesterday i cried the day before and i cried back then
but nothing can replace what i did
and sorry is not good enough
and i deserve a lesson
but life is so precious and you know that
queen of the underground
are you gonna be a good queen or bad?
outsmart me
or use violence
You know ive vowed for silence
i respect you
im onto you
in my deluded thought
im afraid everyday
but every ghost haunts
you are now a queen of the underground
let me help you make the best of it
you are needed in society in case things go awry
im not your target anymore
but you have connections
and your powerfull
what if the world was chaos
what would you change and how
and can i help?
a leader pathway is,
a leader’s underground pathway
a underground is a underground,
of a leader’s pathway
a pathway is a pathway to a leader’s heaven
a path of heaven is a pathway of heaven
under heaven is under pathway to heaven
heaven is heaven’s pathway
heaven is heaven’s underground pathway
a underground is heaven’s underground
heaven’s underground is heaven’s heaven’s
a underground is a road to heaven
the road to heaven is the road to a underground
heaven is a road to a underground
a leader’s heaven is a leader’s road
a leader’s heaven is a leader’s road to heaven
a pathway to heaven is a pathway to a leader’s road
a leader is a leader’s road of heaven
heaven is heaven’s road
heaven is heaven’s road of a leader
heaven is heaven’s road of path
aka
Terry's Rush Hour Tube Trauma
A voice rose from a burning bush,
"O feel the contours of my tush!
Ounce for ounce
Cheeks will bounce
With just an itty-bitty push!"
The way is the underground
They say If you runaway we'll you ground
The scary ,weak black kitten
Couldn't step,it is harshly beaten
The days are dark nights
The rays are dark lights
The shining northern star of hope
Is the guide ,a freedom rope
The way is the underground
The kitten's fugitive ghost is around
The kitten lost its whiskers
It is weak her eyes are on the paws
The kitten frost but it whispers
I still have these sharp claws
The shelter was the uncle's cabin, Tom
Whenever there is a lantern,it'd be our home
The way is the underground
Perilous it is,but the black kitten is still resisting around
Nine Eleven—a dark day lives of many workers were stolen away
Individuals worked all night; stayed; without seeing the light of day
Nose to the grindstone below floor level they labored productively
Effectively moving papers, stacks, racks, speedily and so selectively
Encouraged basement overtime; more taxes paid; they worked away
Loyal workers; dedicated to the cause; laziness to them—not a gift!
Earnestly they called home to say, “Honey I am working another shift”
Encouraged by those who stayed; coffee and donuts— no need to pay
Encroachment above they never did see as terror stuck during the day
Night’s darkness envelope the light; underground darkness of the night
~~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~
© Joseph Spence, Sr., 8/27/09
© All Rights Reserved
~~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~
Joseph S. Spence, Sr., is the author of "The Awakened One Poetics" (2009), which is
published in seven different languages. He invented the Epulaeryu poetry form, which
focuses on succulent cuisines and drinks. He is published in various forums, including the
World Haiku Association; Poetinis Druskininku, Milwaukee Area College, Phoenix Magazine;
Möbius Poetry, and Taj Mahal Review to name a few. Joseph is a Goodwill Ambassador for
the state of Arkansas, USA, a college faculty, and a military veteran.
hanging straps and travel apps.
beeping doors and littered floors.
rocking cars and metal bars.
rattling track and aching back.
ticket fare and lack of air.
bags on lap and 'mind the gap'.
heavy heat now WARREN STREET:
Way Out.
Places.
Platform spaces.
Cell Phones. Faces.
Adverts every too few paces.
Noone cares.
Moving stairs.
Subway guards.
Oyster cards.
Helping hands.
Busking bands.
'mind the gap' and spirit sap.
crowded floors and beeping doors.
metal bars and jolt of cars.
blank outside and rush hour ride.
there and back and rattling track.
subway maps and hanging straps.
lights and dark and now GREEN PARK:
Way Out.
Places.
Platform spaces.
Cell Phones. Faces.
Adverts every too few paces.
Noone cares.
Moving stairs.
Subway guards.
Oyster cards.
Helping hands.
Busking bands.
Concrete steps to other lands.
The legend so long that's been told, and here goes,
that where this underground river flows,
It's always blacker than blackest night.
And when you go in this cave you need a bright light.
Way down under the earth in this cave,
The fish are blind that swim in these waves,
And some have even said, and that's no lie.
that if you could catch one, they would have no eye.
They are quicker than lightning, and they know,
they must go as the river flows.
They know where the banks are by their feel.
and know the dangers of the river are very real.
This river flows gently and is never too deep.
It's stays most the same in cold and in heat.
For you see the temperature is always the same.
down under the ground and that is no game.
This river keeps flowing from beginning to end,
however, as far as we know, there is no end, my friend.
So on it will flow, forever I guess.
And if anyone finds it, it will be a success.
cave
dark tunnels
formations of magnitude and beauty
voices echo
grotto
Underground rivers unsettle thoughts,
feelings on stable ground.
Real estate doesn't sound as real
with thoughts of hyporheic flow
beneath our feet,
out of sight and sound.
Rivers are meant to have light on top,
transparency.
Underground flow must look more like a furtive capillary
than an upfront tributary,
bringing salvific moisture
down into and across and through
deep ecological roots of fertility.
Hypostatic unions
are contrasts between understory backgrounds
emerging into focal foreground,
like darkness of night's flowing complexities
from which light emerges each day
then fades again,
like Yang creation stories
emerging from Yin
hypostatic partnering,
hyporheic flow
deep down within ecological consciousness,
subterranean channels
feeding timeless roots
of healthy real estates,
cooperative becoming.
Music
Soothing our souls
Playing inside our heads
Putting all of our fears to rest
Solace
I wrote a poem on the underground wall
for Emily, whenever I may find her.
Her lips are bouncy like a red rubber ball;
you can tell the world so they'll remind her.
For Emily, whenever I may find her,
Punky's dilemma has now come to an end.
I'm Richard Cory and let me remind her;
he was my brother, and I was his dear friend.
Punky's dilemma has now come to an end.
The French Twist on Bleecker Street is fighting mad.
He was my brother, and I was his dear friend.
I'll hide somewhere they can't find me, writing pad.
The French twist On Bleecker Street is fighting mad.
Her lips are bouncy like a red rubber ball.
I'll hide somewhere they can't find me, writing pad.
I wrote a poem on the underground wall.
11 syllables
Song titles by Simon & Garfunkel:
A Poem On The Underground Wall
For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her
Red Rubber Ball
You Can Tell The World
Punky's Dilemma
Richard Cory
He Was My Brother
The French Twist
Bleecker Street
Fighting Mad
Somewhere They Can't Find Me
extensive empire
vast confiscated castles ~
no time for bumbling
Marvel at the tiny seed,
The power It is granted
Crusted by wide heavens
protected by the cloud
falls hard
goes deep
Underground.
It awaits in the dark
feeding on the the rain
that comes from above.
Spreading its roots,
holds on to its source
Till that second, that moment,
it bursts out through the ceiling
out in the open light.