Long Subways Poems
Long Subways Poems. Below are the most popular long Subways by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Subways poems by poem length and keyword.
Night trains' theatre
Saturday to Sunday, after midnight going home, the restaurant closed
Walk to the station, get on Bond Street, the train works, takes me home,
Change at Baker Street from Jubilee line to Metropolitan line, fast walk
In the stations and subways walked people cheerfully, men and women
Time after night, hmm, happy people traveled in the carriage, past time
Hmm, bombastic amazing ladies, they talked cheerfully and just laughed
Night Train movie, this is one of the theatres in my life. Watching the life,
on the trains. People, passengers, young, old, different nationalities
Hmm, colorful existence is a tale in life. Nothing, everything is life.
Wembley Park Station
Arriving to home
The theatre closed
There are secrets to be uncovered in the rain forest
Something mushrooming from a medicine tree.
What goes on in the woods, and Jungles? -
While we hustle -- bustle.
Pacing the pavement like ants...
Never to become one with mighty trees.
The buzz saw and blades -
Working to create another beautiful mall.
I am stifled,can't breathe.
These earthly home wreckers are earth disturbers:
My environment is clinging, on holding on for dear life.
Rats share space with me.
Viruses fill the air on subways.
Yet right here on this small planet;
I once could tap tonic from trees.
But now earth is choking, she’s crying "I cannot breathe".
So, many secrets to be uncovered in the rain forest
Something mushrooming from a medicine tree;
Could cure us, yet I am forbidden to reveal.
I am afraid, I may never get to feel the cleansing of a forest breeze.
I chant ... to feel that which has left my womb and disappeared;
May summon the spirit of unknown secrets to come
Enter my energy field.
Take me to the place where I may see streams of pure water;
Hear the callings of ancient voices... and play in red clay...
Molding clay pots, and weaving fabrics on my loom.
There are secrets that could mend us.
With knowledge of leaves, roots– Red dirt, and water.
We can know of all things that lie in the thick.
Steaming lakes- instead of cesspools,
we’d have tonic water, and mushroom juice-
We never had a chance on these cemented grounds.
Pacing back n forth like ants; Killing habitats, and creating havoc.
Can you plant a small tree in Manhattan, for me?
For her, for them.
They put us here, and now they leave.
Wealthy folks, head for the hills and mountains,
bathe in natural fountains.
Now it’s them that are draped in gold and Amber-
Put a damper on our habitat. Plundered all the earth.
Replaced grass with turf.
While my bare-feet know not the grass, nor soil.
Stench and debris arise from pavements in boiling heat.
Blocking the charge,
that would release this
negative energy from my feet.
Rio de Janeiro, a city by the shore:
Home to Ipanema, Carnival and dance folklore.
As a child, of you I read, from books that showed your Christ.
Arms outstretched, He guards your days and lights your sky by night.
And now I’ve stood beneath His feet and breathed the air you breathe.
I’ve viewed the famous Sugar Loaf, seen monkeys play in trees,
visited your fruit stands and drunk from a coconut shell.
I’ve searched for creatures hewn in stone that midnight vendors sell,
and on your soft and clinging sand, I thrust my toes deep in
and glistened under winter sun, brown sugar on my skin.
Along Copacabana, I jumped waves, enjoyed a beach
which, when they cross an avenue, all visitors can reach.
On weekends and on holidays, your several sea fronts teem
with hundreds, no with multitudes, of people who all seem
content to chat beneath umbrellas, lounging in the sun,
while on a road closed to all traffic, others like to run.
And on that winding promenade are folks, most clad in shorts,
thong-bikinied women, sundry shapes and shades all sorts!
Kids whiz by on roller blades; old or young may ride a bike.
Many simply merrily stroll, though dressed as for a hike.
And in your city’s whole, the countless cars and bodies stream;
pedestrians and door-less shops, props in your waking dream.
with taxis veering left and right and people catching buses;
Cacophony of life your subways and your streets encompass.
Children on their mother’s hands; boys in soccer shirts.
Men sip beers at sidewalk bars; girls scurry in their tight skirts.
Portuguese artisans laid the paths your people walk.
What tales immersed in history if cobblestones could talk!
More than a metropolis, you are yourself, unique!
And I have had the pleasure to have sampled your mystique.
For Bic Gi-Sa's Landscape and Towns Contest
There are policemen in the subways
Who refuse to wear their masks.
Ironic, since enforcement
Of that rule’s among their tasks.
When a patron on the platform
Asked some cops if they’d obey,
They at first pretended that because
His mask was in the way…
They couldn’t hear him but, of course,
Somebody filmed the scene,
So everyone could see the cop
Was simply being mean.
What followed was much worse; that cop
And partner pushed the guy
Right through the exit with no
Legal explanation why.
With half the force unvaccinated,
Masks should be required
And those who won’t obey should be
Suspended, fined or fired.
This skinny, unkept guy,
a shadow in the light,
victim of negligence,
lost in the night;
a life missing guidance,
a path gone awry,
destitute and alone
bound to silently cry.
Good people of New York,
stop and hear my plea:
take me way from this slum,
I'd run free, I'm ready
to leave the dump,
pop the champagne cork,
let me find my way back,
where the dreams can walk!
Daily roaming the subway,
where the noise never ends,
kicking off crawling rats,
no place for friends;
sleeping on cold benches,
wrapped in despair,
learned to fend off punches,
too tired to care!
Good people of New York,
stop and hear my plea,
take me far away from this slum
I'd be free; I'm ready
to leave this dump,
pop the champagne cork:
let me find my way back,
where the dreams can walk!
Daily roaming the subways,
where the noise never ends,
kicking off crawling rats,
no place for friends,
sleeping on cold benches,
wrapped in despair,
learned to fend off punches,
too tired to care.
Good people of New York,
stop and hear my plea,
take me far away
from this slum;
I'd be free, I'm ready
to leave the dump,
pop the champagne cork:
let me find my way back:
where dreams can walk!
Did I choose the low road
begging for mercy?
Was this life meant
for someone who was wealthy,
once had a home,
door wide open to light?
Now, it's just memories fading,
ghosts of the night!
Who would have thought,
this good-looking dude
with dreams and ambition
with such groove,
wound up in streets
that are heartlessly rude:
where smiles are scarce
and kindness is rude?
Good people of New York,
stop and hear my plea,
take me far away
from this slum;
I'd be free, I'm ready
to leave this dump,
pop my champagne cork:
let me find my way back,
where dreams can walk!
I wore fine clothes, a necklet
with a red horn,
ate the best food,
all my futures adorned,
but down the road,
I made the wrong turn,
lost all the gold:
cocaine kept each pain
at bay; now, I seek redemption:
a chance to reclaim
hope to raise
from the ashes
and dance in the flame!
He was always at the same spot, least everyday I passed
In the snow, rain, cold or really hot his shadow was cast
He never really said much or took people out of their way
But many people he did touch his sign just saying to pray
Some people would stop and talk, some a smile on their face
Others would just continue to walk uneasy in just such a place
Some would toss a wave or a smile and that became everyday
And yet all the while it was the man with the sign just saying to pray
And as the subways roared in and the next wave would pass by
We have all fallen in our own sin as so being one reason why
And there read other reasons too all stenciled neatly on his sign
But today there was something new right there on the very last line
Perhaps you never gave Him a thought each day in passing him by
Up until now you never sought and didn't think that you'd ever try
But it was that last line wasn't it that finally did draw you near
The fact that the old man never quit, to you that finally did adhere
The mentally ill have given up on us.
Let loose they roam
where once naked cowboys sang.
It is the drugs
it is the broken system
it is the anger of strangers
it rises like a concrete weed in our heads.
The 'no nothings' can do nothing,
the big chiefs
in their native american Uber wagons
ride around with closed minds,
they talk through their noses,
blow-harder than ever.
Cops duck and dive.
The mentally challenged
are stabbing their sharp fingernails
into the exposed necks of silent lambs.
Subways are neglected, are badlands
where only that brave dare to ride inside.
City life sleepwalks on, but with one eye
always open.
She sits on a street corner with a teardrop in her eye
Wishing she were in the cars of the people driving by
Her mother left with some john about two months ago
The man with the eviction notice didn’t care she had no place else to go
She carries in her small backpack everything she owns
The coming of the winter colds is in the winds that have blown
The bed she made on a City Park bench can comfort her no more
Her absences in the public school do not entice anyone to go looking for …
… the poor little black girl that nobody cares about
She has potential deep inside of her buried beneath the hunger pains
But nobody in this busy world recognizes what there is to gain
She is doing everything she possibly can to stop from turning tricks
But the only thing her mother taught her was how to hide the bruises from her kicks
The Styrofoam cup she holds out to strangers hasn’t collected any coin
People just leave her looks of disgust as if she is at fault for being forlorn
Shadows cast by the high-rise buildings grow longer with the setting sun
As commuters begin their journeys home she stands up in front of everyone …
… and the poor little black girl lets out a booming shout
“I don’t do this because I want to; being abandoned was not my choice;
I tried quietly to ask for help – but today I will use my voice
I turned thirteen years old today – the anniversary of another girl’s mistake
Is it too much to ask for, just once, a piece of cake?”
“You can pretend that I don’t exist; you can pretend that you’re better than me;
You can long for that future day when I am no longer here for you to see;
You can hate me and fear me and just turn your head the other way;
But you will see me again, sitting by our Father to hear your excuses come judgment day”
Businessmen and businesswomen stopped for just a minute
They looked around at one another not sure of the message or how to spin it
Then continued towards their taxis, subways, ferries and their cars
She stood alone after the sun went down beneath the twinkling stars …
It is up to you, now, to determine how this story turns out
Plane, Train or Automobile - none of us can escape our fate
in these dark and dire times
we find ourselves living
we often fear that the times
are infected with death
and so we are afraid
deathly afraid
that if we take a plane
we will find General Corona
among the passengers
and we afraid
deadly afraid
that the subways
are incubators
of death and destruction
the virus spreads
fear and death
in its wake
many of us
retreating to our homes
and venturing out
in our cars
only to find
death is stalking us
as traffic piles up
traffic accidents
still killing more people
that the dreaded General Corona
the grim reaper smiles
his work is done
Satan thanks General. Corona
for a job well done
writing com daily dew drop in prompt
Big Dreams
My friend told me I should print a business card.
He said that I should pass it out.
He told me that I should get out there,
in the world, and make “a” mark.
I am nervous.
I am small.
I am just…
My friend spoke with me again today.
He smiled from ear to ear as he told me;
I have now set sail.
I am aboard the QE2…
in the prettiest floating library to cross the sea.
Windows among the shelves that look out,
passed the waves, wear pirates play.
Then he grinned wider still…
New York subways, bus seats,
the rickshaw to and from China town,
the park and back…
Two airplanes, airports, restaurants and half a dozen
yellow cabs with wild eyed drivers going and going.
The Piccadilly, The Yellow Frog, The “café de elegant”,
The fact-checker the baker and the ticket taker.
London England, I always wanted to go…(I grinned back at him.)
I am now at the clock tower,
standing near the stone guard at the palace.
I have visited Down Town Abbey,
and am floating down the Thames…
Hogwarts!
The train station, the castle,
and yes, oh especially yes…
the library where the trolls stack the books,
the cat eats the mice the size of toasters,
the librarian herself breathes fire. (dragon)
I am a small card, a piece of paper, yet…
I am me.
I hugged my friend.
.