Long Subway Poems
Long Subway Poems. Below are the most popular long Subway by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Subway poems by poem length and keyword.
WISDOM OF OZ/Words/
THEY CALLED HIM THE WISDOM OF OZ/A BALLER, BANGER/ WITH A WIDE RANGE OF KNOWLEDGE
INTO THE STREET LIFE OF PIMPIN’,LOAN SHARKING, SHAKE DOWN’S,GRAB –N-SNACH/ DON’T LEAVE YOUR DAUGHTER’S ON THE STUP MAN/ THE WIZDOM OF OZ WILL TAKE ‘EM/TURN ‘EM OUT/AND HAVE THEM ON THE BLOCK THE NEXT DAY/ HE WAS A SLICK HUSTLER/ HIS UNCLE SMOKEY TOUGHT HIM HOW TO BE THAT WAY/WHEN THE DARK NITE WOULD FALL UPON ALL THE BOROUGs IN THE BIG CITY/HE WOULD LAUNCH HIM SELF/ He Called himself THE MID-NITE MISSILE OF HUSTLE OF SWITCH –N-BAIT THROUGH OUT THE FIVE BOROUGHS OF NEW YORK AND UP STATE/BUT DIG/ONE DAY WHILE LISTENING TO A STRIP CLUB SOUND TRACK IN HIS HEAD/ HE REALIZED THE ULTIMATE TAKE DOWN ON SOCIETY WAS IN HACKING AND JACKING THE TECHNOLOGY OF THE DAY/ MAN TABLET’S, IPAD’S,IPHONE’S,LAPTOP’S/WITH HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF THEASE DEVICES RIDING THE NEW YORK SUBWAY EACH DAY/ WHY THE ULTIMATE HUSTLE /WITH BIG TIME DEVICE COMPANIES HYPING UP THEIR PRODUCT TO THE GENERAL PUBLIC/ THAT THEY CAN OWN WITH CONFIDENCE AND KNOW THAT THERE PRIVACY WILL BE PROTECTED IN SOME KIND OF WAY/ WAS THE FALSE FRONT THE WISDOM OF OZ NEEDED TO RUN HIS GAME DOWN/EVERY WHERE YOU LOOKED/
FROM MANHATTAN TO THE BRONX TO STANTAN ISLAND AND QUEENS/TO STANDING IN LINE or BUYING A PAIR OF JEANS/ THE MASSES OF PEOPLE WOULD BE WALKIN’-N-TALKIN’ AND NOT AWARE OF WHERE THAY WERE A OR WHO THEY WALK INTO/
Dixie Cup Memorial
by Odin Roark
How small it is
this bottom of the Dixie cup
looking skyward
holding high the torch
the unemployment check
of another kind
Held aloft with no regrets
Half full
Half empty
All the same
Someone had to shoulder the orders
Now in desert camo-dress
his prosthetic hand holds forth
watching fingers pass over
some manicured
with pennies
some scabbed and scarred
with singles
even children's innocent fingers
dropping their nickels and dimes
Many have acknowledged this
His back-home identity
His calling card
His shingle
His name plate
The mind huddles close now
few copper and silver
no blankets of green
no ingots of gold
A note floats downward
swathing reality
Thank you for your service
Would you like a job?
What are your skills?
Can you relocate?
Sure
he says
his eyes lingering
upon his severed legs
each knee projecting its solitary reality
Purple Heart pinned securely to the right
Just let me gather today's windfall
2 pennies
1 nickel
3 quarters
1 subway token
Relocating again
Travel
Enough to get me there
Pocketing the Dixie cup
his hook and knuckles pull forward
surging his mover's dolly
transporting Faith's hidden hope
Ahead
looking back
his benefactor strides onward
his missing arm yet another lost appendage of honor
his smile a projection of comaradery
his Ooh-rah a respect never ignored
Not far he says
Not far
"A dream's nightmare of reality's touch"
Cancer tore my family apart, took away my sanity now l am forever angry.
Raped at thirteen by a man l knew as father, one who chased away my brother because he was mother's.
A life of needles and impaired judgment, lost by the subway of disaster, all my friends victims of genocide.
It's a complicated, cruel, cunning and cold life. A very, very u fair game, only him who gave life to us knows better....
Curse the viper polluting the skies, the only thing l can do through it all is to close NY eyes and ask for strength to make it through the night.
Bhami
Slow down take a run
Wobbly—?dribble?— dabble addled eye balls gawking at.. what is that? First encounter of the second kind
Clanging?—?clinging?—?cloistering—?changin colours in daytime
Running lights off on subway hell
Foil coil toil boil the beef stock until sober
Heat draws itself up?—from the toes?—to the feet?— up up in to— (glands bulge) your inner organs?—liver slowly dying?tangled?—?triangle?— shaped kidneys?—?tingling?—?ringing ears?—?wet hands burning
‘Hot in here, isn’t it’ I say to whoever is near
My partner in this crime of non reasoning
For a squeeze of lemon?— top of the class?— cherry pop given freely without rates
Norman Bates-- scary film!--rhymes with times--dimes--pines--grimes
Steinmann Gloria Gaynor born to be alive pal gal mal Quel?
Slattery lids opening wide with ferocity
Gutteral gluten?— free galloping for horses
Productive?—?creative?—?tired up in addled mind
Hole drilled into a cavity in the brain?—?chemicals floating around point blank?—?blood constricted to a ball of ice-peaked at Antarctica poles apart
Taking the time
Like the wind takes sheath from sword?—?points blank
Shooting fast?— slowing down
Run?— sun?— pun?—?drum for your life?—
Because there’s not much of it left after this
The End
The escalator keeps descending;
Seemingly, it’s never-ending,
Taking riders deep into
The bowels of the earth.
Everyone around pretending
That they’re fine, of course, depending
On their circumstances and
Just what their time is worth.
When the platform’s reached, there’s waiting.
Scrolling signs are indicating
When the closest train will come –
That is, if you’re in luck.
Minutes tick by, generating
Lots more people congregating
But you’ve made your choice and now
It seems that you are stuck.
Finally, a revelation –
See the train approach the station.
As the doors glide open, people
Rush to get inside.
Find a seat or resignation
Will stay ‘til your destination.
Then at last you exit,
Having taken it in stride.
eastside, west side, uptown and downtown
riding the iron rail on the underground
the A, the B and the C
the F, the E and the D
the1, the 2, the 3, 4 and the 5
the underground rail where New Yorkers thrive
the IND, the BMT and the IRT
the heart and pulse of an unsleeping city
in a place that runs 24/7and 365
the subway is busier than a giant beehive
it takes many people to work, it takes others to school
it takes just a swipe of a Metrocard, now doesn't that sound cool?
you can travel under the city all day and all night
transferring from train to train and not ever see daylight
there do still have some elevated trains
but only a handful of them still remain
the 7, the J, the V, N and Z
the R, the M, the 9 and 6 run locally
from Brooklyn, to Manhattan, to The Bronx and to Queens
the Metropolitan Transit System is a sight to be seen
so if you're ever visit New York and want to get around
stop at a subway booth, buy a Metrocard
and travel the city on the underground
I saw one day a city of trees
Walking down a path with me
Following hidden eyes to see
Saplings jungled up together
Like a stream of walkers too
Confused at all by windy weather
Deer pellets scattered walk-aways
Somebody's got to clean that up
Small insects eat away the maze
Emerald canopy of light
Daylight flyers speeding through
Branches complicate their flight
Crowded young trees struggling tight
Set an arboreal street fight
Leaping tall for teen age light
Botanical light shows in the trees
Sun rays scattering breezily through
Red and green for traffic leaves
Partying fireflies up all night
Celestial revue of starlight bright
Crickets and peepers sing delight
Subway system of crooked holes
Gophers nudging sexy moles
Touching each other heading home
Spiders vending corpsal flies
In handy snacky six-pack buys
To homeward-bound commuter eyes
Fauna's eating Flora The Breeze
Loving her out in the hot dry leaves
Completing her lust for life you see
And Green Man is the mayor bold
Dryad, she's his squeeze and maid
Public works by beavers laid
Learning to walk, a child of three
First time I saw the City of Trees
Dryad was holding her hand for me
Dryad, she's my love to be
Taking her inventory of bees
Holding her charms about the trees
So we say and so it seems
City of Trees and sunlight beams
Making love for me and my dreams
She left at the yawn of dawn
Between fog-densed waking hour
And rain-soused grey morning.
Veiled, her image was laced in silhouette.
She stood behind the fog-rain, a dark
Painting, sketched in black crayons of
Languor.
Her breath, one streak of ink
Of a satanic fresco on a dingy subway.
And the breath of the rain was heavy,
Brewed in hauteur -
So was the world between us two,
Lame and proscribed.
She wandered through flighty directions.
Grouches filled her lugubrious lungs,
Blotches on the sludged track, echoing
Her slouch.
She was one mass of trembling grief.
I was one hulk of ruinous pain.
Between us, the funeral of love.
Threnodies held court on the once soft
Yolk of hugs that sensitized an ageing
Romance.
Dawn darkened with the pulse of grief
Rain pelted the senses held by solemn
Consternations, recreating a fruitless
Void of hollow trepidations.
She lurched and sidled towards the
Crag-lined route, towards earth’s drooling
Beck... and I knew the funeral
Was over.
Not enough heat. Snow. Cold. and now rain
on Tuesday morning. traffic sloshes to work.
it is cloudy for the second straight day. the snow
was magical only for an hour. businesses might
have closed. now it's melting in a cold rain.
is the city depressing me? i ride the subway
and the people no longer seem beautiful. the noise
is just noise, no longer the power of God. i sit
slumped, still at ease, but no longer playing
with the eyes of other passengers. glance at the ads
and then go to sleep with my eyes open.
it is winter, and it should have its effect. the
difficult, dangerous season when weak creatures die
and the strong barely survive. why expect
much heat to mitigate it and the happiness of Spring?
accept cold and discomfort and the bad sound made.
it is a poor city, the seasons touch us. there is
not enough heat. snow. cold. and now rain.
He couldn’t fit his shopping cart
And suitcase through the door
And screamed at the conductor
(Quite a challenge to ignore).
Once seated, he spread out and then
Removed his socks and shoes.
Assessing just how nuts he was,
This added to the clues.
I glanced his way and sorrily,
I somehow caught his eye.
He then began describing
That the air was awful. Why?
The radiation on the train
Was there to make us sick,
But only some could feel it –
Those intelligent and slick.
I transferred cars while he still raved
And finished out my ride
In uneventful fashion
‘Til the trip home did provide
Another whacko, eating fries
And blaring on her phone
A news report in which
A screeching baby had been shown.
Incessantly, that baby wailed;
She played it on a loop.
I hoped that some brave soul
Would to the rescue somehow swoop.
But no – I had to listen
For we urbanites pretend
That it’s normal on the subway
For the crazies to offend.