Graffiti flourished underground
works by young artists
who found their voices
by sharing visions
in tunnels and on trains
commuters took to work.
They painted flowers
purple monsters
and people dancing
on the street
a celebration
of life the artists knew.
As subways squealed
around curves, first-time
riders never knew what they’d find
under the city
the stories told
before commuters found the light of day.
Skyscrapers above poked into clouds
as the city lived and breathed
but images of graffiti lingered
lingered in recesses of minds
the art left in tunnels
where trains rumbled underground.
I don’t have time for this
These words
These endless words
Idle commuters
Waiting….impatiently
On the subway platform
Jostling for position
Hoping to get a seat
A gazing flash of light
These words
This compilation of compulsion’s creativity
Clamoring crazily
Challenging the implication
Of meter’s maniacal manipulations
Dancing on the head of a pen
Yet, I must choose
While listening to the chorus of
Pick me…pick me
And still … I listen to them
Weighing the worthiness of their weight
Knowing that they know their place
If I will but loosen my grasp
On the instrument
of our freedom
It’s 6.43am,
I’m awaiting my train.
I tune into the station,
Listening to the invisible spring birds
Belting a Beltane call and response;
A syncopation in freewheeling jazz tracks.
Dipperty-dee, dipperty-dar,
Dipperty-dee, dipperty-dar,
I alight the shining lines,
Slide into my seat.
Watch the sun seep up and over rooves,
The rumble and tumble of the dustbin lorry,
Barking dogs,
People in a hurry,
Mobile but fixated by scrolling truths -
Reels of what's new, what's circumstantial,
And rolling news of worlds financial.
Woo-ah woo!
I'm borrowed fleeting glances
Of dolls house windows of toy town houses,
The click and flick of kettles
As the busyness of the new day blinks in.
Full steam ahead!
Clickerty-click, clickety-clack,
Clickety-click, clickety-clack.
Then a pause.
A beeperty-beep, and a whoosh of the doors
As they slide open.
An improvisation of passengers board,
Spilling into the carriages with costa-lot coffees,
Half full.
Commuting, suited and booted into the city.
Electricity!
With a murmuration, they're away from the station.
Dipperty-dee, dipperty-dar,
Dipperty-dee, dipperty-dar,
Icy mornings and darkness warnings
The sun late dawning, commuters yawning
Snow and ice, rain and sleet
The elements do pain the feet
Benevolent heat! the perfect greet
A bitter sweet much needed treat
No birds to see, they left with glee
Indeed they’re free to flee the tree
It seems to me natures decree
Eternally the way things be
Sunshine rare, a low set glare
Trees stand bare, devoid of flare
I stare with care at nature; fair
I am one with all, the whole we share
Day after day, week after week,
When rush hour traffic’s at its peak,
I’ve had to sit and wait and wait,
Knowing that once more I’d be late
It started with a water main.
They mended it – it burst again
And cut off electricity,
Another high priority.
With traffic lights set far apart,
Commuters started losing heart.
This morning, waiting in the car
I spotted something quite bizarre.
The men were gathered all around,
Their spades were lying on the ground.
And I could only sit and stare
As “Happy Birthday” filled the air.
I called out, “Who’s the Birthday boy
I’d like to wish him Birthday joy?”
And, as one man, they turned to say,
“The trench is one year old today!”
10 crabs together in a plastic bag
A friend who brought them for dinner to take home
Crab feast
Subway ride
MTA NYC D train to the Bronx
Observed one of the crabs maneuvering through the subway car
Fast mover that got far
There’s your dinner, after it
Get that crab
However, the crab was spotted by several commuters as one woman screamed and total chaos began
I wanted to laugh, but didn’t make it obvious
So I just held back, and acted like nothing happened
Before I got off to change trains, I told my friend, good luck crabbing home
I changed subway lines at Rockefeller Center for my fantastic F for Queens, New York
Once I got home, I called and asked my friend did she make it home with her bundle of crabs minus one
My friend said yes, but she stated when she unloaded them, they were fighting each other
Crabs will be crabs I responded
Such a crabby scene.
s
t
a
n
d
i
n
g
where gravel morphs into
grains of sand
his curious eyes fixed
at a raven tap-dancing
with its beak.
the raven
doesn't ask why
the afternoon sun is pale
or why the air reeks
of wet stone and exhaust;
it only wants the shine
his coat unsuitable
for the January damp
the zipper stuck halfway -
a jagged metal teeth-grin
biting at his chest
he watches the commuters pass
their faces blurred
like charcoal sketches
pelted by cloudburst
he feels the weight of
his own shadow
a dark, heavy ink
spilled across the sidewalk
tethered to his heels by
a thin line of habit
he wonders
if he's the man
or merely the space
the man occupies
a hallowed-out shape
on a crowded street
waiting for the light to change
or the ground
to finally...
speak
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
maple leaves hemorrhage onto the pavement
hurried commuters wear wool coats
squirrels dash about, burying acorns
metallic tang of dying light
decay clotting the sky’s vein.
I pocket pecans, hard and cold.
frost fingerprints the morning grass
geese stitch southward through the clouds
gold leaves turn to gangrene
Hershey’s kisses wrappers blow against gravestones
October's blusteriness arrives:
a handwritten sky smudged gray.
earth exhales: damp soil, crushed leaves.
October dying beautifully.
It is difficult to be a coward
To feign fear over violence
Stifle the biting sting of tongue
Calm the imperious urge to fight
Cowards walk the streets unseen
Offering a smile, a kind word
Coyly dropping a few bucks in a basket
Waiting patiently for the subway
Silently assist a woman with a baby carriage
Slow the onslaught of rushing commuters
They were not meant to be heroes
Until the day they had to be…
Back in the day
That is what people often say
Graffiti create
Observation on subway car rides
Display surrounding one’s creativity
Something to do activity
Inside and out of subway cars
Up close and personal presentation views
Some commuters considered it garbage in waste
Art credit haste
Graffiti to inspire
Young minds never tire
Spray paint art on steel
The look without using canvas for real
Appeal attraction on commuter minds to capture
Graffiti through the years
To some commuters it spells fear
It became point to point preserver
A young life wants to be graffiti art known
This was their thought in having it shown
You won’t find in an Art Museum
It’s just subway cars contribute enthusiasm
Graffiti is what it says and art is what comes out
Graffiti everywhere in the morse
The share with care
Graffiti from the heart
Art start
a one-legged pigeon
hopping tiles in the depot
freezes where shadows remain
doesn't need our pity—
working twice as hard for less
—most commuters know that score
While sharing the ride
and not a lot to see or do
seated side by side
in the Chunnel queue
with commuters driving home
I took a look at the view
carpool tunnel vision syndrome
I only ride the subway
To a doctor or a show.
When teaching, that was not the way
To work I used to go.
Today, though, in the morning rush
I had to take a train
And I expected all the usuals
That make the trip a pain –
Delays and crowds and people whom
You wouldn’t want to meet
And cars so packed that naturally,
You’d never get a seat.
Instead, there was a transit worker
In a neon vest
Who smiled and shouted, “Welcome, people!”
Like she was possessed.
She clapped her hands and greeted all
With such a joyous mien
That commuters sported grins
Where mostly scowls are likely seen.
Just think of it – one person can
Spread happiness around
With just an upbeat attitude,
A lesson quite profound.
At Nahal Oz, Hamas hurled a substance weird
It burst into flames, released a gas to be feared
Jews suffocated in minutes, but we don’t know
Who made it, what it was, nothing to show.
At a theater in Moscow, rebels came in
Took the audience hostage, in the cause of Chechin
Russian police made an invisible gas flow
Terrorists were led away, what gas used we don’t know
Tourists describe a chemical they call “devil’s breath”
Makes you a zombie, in some cases causes death
Some Columbians use it, so visitors beware
It may seem underhanded, but crime isn’t fair.
Madman in the commuter train, makes fake phone calls
To warn the commuters of drug aerosols
He says criminals can attack this way, and you wouldn’t know
That you’re a victim, of a gas drug flow.
He says he’s a victim, they got his keys
Then entered his house, easy as a breeze
Affected his behavior, damaged his brain
White coats lead this guy away, but is reality insane?
What you don't know can hurt you, and it gets worse
You can blame natural causes, when your luck hits a reverse
When your health goes bad, when troubles accrue
Now it's possible someone's doing it to you.
Not a slogan nor advertisement
Fair exchange
Commuters listen and wonder
Poetry words coming to life
The ride with readings from actual Poets
Poetry of all kinds sharing beyond compare
Moment in write of Poetry time
Through traffic of rush hour
It becomes the assemble
Poetry readings commuter sit
Inspiring and uplifting fit
Words that never quit
Discerning gift
Direct craft
Something never done before
Words after words no can ignore
Unique and Genuine
Words that are kind
Transit Bus Poetry tone
A Poets doing their thing in letting it be known.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.