Often in a trap of seasons
the poet is snared; appealing
celestial beams and rings, moves him further
out than in. Here and there, everywhere,
the poet a wanderer by nature, an avid
romantic his fond feature – a cook of sorts,
his mainline~ chemical verse.
Master
crafter
paper
later
compute
astute
website
ignite
laptop
giftshop
FedEx
success
jogger
blogger
clever
weber
keyboard
switchboard
email
voicemail
midnight
uptight
father
mother
good night
sleep tight
blanket
flank it
cover
lover
father
smarter
mainline
offline
loser
snoozer.
Big Ben strikes ten, depart Kings Cross.
Squeal of tight wheel, where lines criss-cross.
Clickety-clack. Clickety clack.
Now heading north-bound on fast track.
Leave city sprawl in grey and grime
for now we're on East Coast mainline
in rural space, expanse of green,
where all around, countryside scene.
My window view is flashing by,
too fast for focus of my eye.
Field after field, farming landscape.
Golden barley, bright yellow rape.
Wood with coppice, hedge and hawthorn.
Few grazing sheep looking forlorn.
On steep hillside, deserted farm,
red-brick decay falling down barn.
Whistle warning, speed through stations,
each one gone in just two seconds.
Now reach Yorkshire where engine built.
Accelerating to full tilt.
Non-stop on straight, all clear ahead.
And now we hit the full hundred.
Still at top speed and close to coast.
Through industry, of the North East.
Now parallel to Roman road,
to Edinburgh with full payload.
We're nearly there and right on time.
Now slowing down for station line.
Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack.
Over the points to platform track.
Arrive on time in the city,
the clock showing just six thirty.
~ A Monorhymed Fantasy ~
A virgin maid of twenty-nine
angelic face, most benign
Sought the life of the front lines
her upbringing undermined...
Two devilish, slack-jawed canines
leaped at the cowering feline
Antagonistic, their bloodlines
simmering in rancid brine...
Camouflaged prone, not supine
a-slither and a-serpentine
Amidst the poison ivy vine
fangs redolent of red strychnine...
Her pipedreams of bootleg moonshine
no street-grade heroin to mainline
Cannabis the new gold to find
cheaper than a sapphire mine
Armed with wings of cypress wine
embarked for distant shorelines
As she touched the finish line ~
vanished was the Temple Shrine
I see nothing but pink plume and ink
In the lofty canopy above
The roof is raised with mist
And rust in my eyes
and the old wreck of souls
Shouting Jazz melodies like tricks
The way this porch was raised
by Summer Sweat-Backs
Anticipating the eager tide
Of the long lost labour
of Coast Mainline Harbour poles
Broken Nets untied and umkempt
My Masterpiece belongs
at Sea
A Ship sent to Eternity
"The Constant Work of Man"
Sorrowed to Travail
Being fished by the Whale
With Jonah's reticence
I bemoan Nineveh's wailing tides
And grow with the Sand
Dali came to me once
in the repose of Dream
With unexpected charm
Amidst reliquary code:
Growing up and away the hoop
The tree anchored to my soul
Had Been Lifted
The rain moved through the night
And right into the dawn
I awoke to the sound of a loud car horn
Got dressed, had a cup, and rushed to catch the train
I was taking the Mainline to Philly from Wayne
While riders were reading the paper or book
I felt the mansions deserved a jealous look
As we moved from the so-called good area to bad
My mind went from euphoric to sad
Boarded up houses catching my curious, roving eye
I remembered I hoped that they would all disappear
But here today this memory made me shed a tear
Go ask Alice in her padded cell,
how she took a tumble and fell.
Down a rabbit hole of illusion,
Whom now don’s a straightjacket of confusion.
Go ask Alice with her veins full of Lithium,
how she surrendered to her delirium,
of smoking caterpillars and a grinning feline.
Who’s attached to an Intravenous mainline.
Go ask Alice about her sanity,
how it vanished in this asylum of rhapsody.
In a fog that is translucent and hypnotic.
In her Wonderland with painted narcotics.
Pain is the drug
On which many O.D.
Its mainline most fatal
All feelings to bleed
With birth its first victim
And death waiting last
Hiding deep in the shadows
—of all memory past
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)
Railway trains
By Stanley Russell Harris
The new mad author
& A Poetry Soup honourably mentioned poet
The trains are on the mainline track,
the old, the new, futuristic too.
On the Yorkshire four lined track today,
they huff and puff or are quiet I say.
The flying Scotsman, now restored,
burning coal now from abroad!
Diesel trains, electric, also,
their fuel from overseas does flow.
So when the screws are put on us.
Rising costs I mean so much.
Perhaps we’ll travel the old way.
By Stagecoach and horses I say.
The highway men will not plague us.
As armed police will escort us!
And if with that you can’t agree.
Best use your feet and walk you see
No matter what type of fuel!
Work our transport from the pool.
Costs will rise, see if I’m right.
And I’ll be walking home each night.
liquid oxygen, nitrogen, napalm
the many methods of modern BBQ
multi-pronged igniters injecting mainline
high pressure laser guided fusion reactors
subatomic quantum mechanical quasar energy
photons vibrating in Orion’s nebula
disintegrating galactic supercharged plasma
ejected from hemorrhoids at warp speed
inner core’s event horizon is compromised
came through the worm hole
didn’t see it coming
A shaft of light penetrates my barely open eyes,the promise of a bright new day from an angel who lies,no reason for hope no happy ending up ahead, my eyelids reunite i'll just stay in bed but sleep is never easy since i tasted the forbidden fruit, i used to shoot to score now i score to shoot.
The nausia comes first closely followed by the headache, god i need to get better, answer the phone for christ's sake. dark clouds descend, i can barely hold the phone, just one more hit i promise, i dont want to die alone.Just one more hit i swear, to make the pain go away, just one more time's a promise i make myself every single day.
At last my prayers are answered,my knight in shining armour is waiting at my door but there are no fairytale endings for a dealer and a crack whore.I board the junkie express and mainline to the station, first stop euphoria last shop desperation.
I'd like to think i can be normal again, its the only thing that keeps me sane but once you've bought a ticket its hard to get off the train
Society's numb tongue
Underwent, undergone
The riptide pulls my feet
By hypnosis and brackish replete
Our politics paraded in the streets
We were there to please
Grounded still at the round table
Forging letters for keepsake
So families could be kept tight
Although at nude beaches, anarchists ran
Poised and laughing at the dull face
Of a monarchy solemnly rejoiced
The sand and sun were for everyone
American boys on the skull trapping frontier
Tapped the essence of mainline
Those wild, wooly inculpable fears
They rigged the order of moss and deer
So be it, we are ancient and modern
Atlantis, her watery sun beckons too
Casting mystery upon the waves
Soon to be searching our hidden Titanic
While unearthing Catholic graves
GOD KNOWS WHY
I look at this photo of us in the Moscovski Zal*
And she is leaning on my shoulder as we pose a while
For a pic taken by a passer-by with our camera (digital):
She is so sweet and loving and really devoted and lovable,
As I look at myself standing there with a grin.
Because God knows why she loves me. It’s almost a sin -
Me: sans a lot - sans hair, sans hearing, sans eyes.
She could’ve had any of these four million guys.
I feel everything about her is perfect,
But I’d have to say except in one respect:
The grinning guy posing next to her in the pic.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………
*Moskovski Zal = Mosow Station, a mainline
railroad terminus station in St. Petersburg
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