Subways Poems | Examples

Uber Easy

We love to visit cities;
Urban blood runs through my veins
And now that we are older,
We’ve no tolerance for trains,

So instead of checking listings
For the local train or bus,
We just call an Uber and it comes
Real fast, without a fuss.

We aren’t on vacation now,
But wanted to go out.
I read of an exhibit
And liked what it was about.

Since the schedule on Sunday
Says the subways will be slow,
We decided that an Uber
Was the only way to go.

It felt like we were on a trip
And not in our backyard.
My husband loved the ease of it
And yes, in that regard

It made a lot of sense because
Convenience, truth be told,
Counts a lot, but even more so
When you’re (I’ll admit it) old!

Night trains' theatre

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

Normal People

Normal people come in packs of six
Some are born in cardboard boxes 
In suburbs, in summer, in campers
In the middle of the middle night
In middle class somewhere on a train
Between clicks and clacks on railroad tracks

Rich people shower frequently in power
In God we trust the upper crust to play
Normal people want mobility Up
To supper in good company
To be pretty as a picture on the beach
To frolic in the waves of milk and honey

With apologies to Jesus people sing
Sometimes flat or in harmony
Sometimes in black and white
In dance, in fire, using gravity

Normal people come in from the cold
Candy sweet and happy to be seen
Some come from baby factories  
From across the street in greeting seasons 

Middle class people love the poor
They love themselves much more
That is why babies are born

Subways are for pedestrians
With no class and in transition
Travelling from left to right
In nature train people are always in motion
Moving on is always right
                      
The mundane remain the same
With Happy Hour and a six pack waiting
Somewhere down the line the land cracks open
It is another earthquake opened with a smile

The Train of Life

                   Mosaic dessert brains
                        are splattered on the walls
                             of New York subways
                                            - the underground art society!
                             Expressing their not-so-dry thots
                                                  their desert full of weeds
                                                      their hope
                                              - run over by the Train.

City Echoes

The sun has risen, and a dove is cooing outside my window. All the tall buildings on my block seem to be resting. Here I am thinking of the cave man—his strength, his battles. Skylines, super tall buildings, and yes, some of us are not liking the look of our city. When there is no hope for your city, its citizens suffer tremendously. Why do other cities thrive better than some? The big question is, what makes a city thrive? ‘The more people you bring in, the more vibrant the city will become,’ Euchner said. But who are these people? (Ha! Ha! Profit holders.) Lack of empathy, people struggling with mixed feelings. While the impacts of rats in the subways make the alley cats stay low in the darkest alley, the sun has risen, and a dove coos outside my window. Meanwhile, the morning sun on the tall buildings seems hopeless. Here I am thinking of the cave man’s mental state: My brain is tired, my soul seems a bit weary, and I need more sleep (so mentally fatigued). Comme ci, comme ça!”

To Be a Farmer

Must be cool to be a farmer.
(Well, except for all the work!)
Having produce at your fingertips
Would be a lovely perk.

Feeding chickens, brushing horses,
Waking up to milk the cows,
All sound great within the fantasy
My urban mind allows.

Wearing flannel shirts and Carhartt’s,
Picking crops and baking bread,
Trading subways, cabs and buses
For a tractor ride instead.

Oh, I know I’m being foolish;
Farming’s not a lot of fun
And it takes the kind of labor
That’s not meant for everyone.

But from days of “Old MacDonald,”
When I think about a farm,
I don’t focus on the grunt work,
Just the hype of all its charm.

Taught About Monsters

Her high anxiety kicked in at the age of three her parents said.
I was horrified, shocked, were they daft in their head?
No one is anxious at the age of three. That is crazy, right?
She told me “the ghost monsters come out in the middle of the night.”

Where are they in the day time? I asked the four-year-old.
They are riding the subways, carrying lunchboxes of gold.
I did not dare ask the child what they had in there to eat.
She has been raised by monsters, Silly Barbara and Pete.

Raining

It’s raining, it’s pouring;
The streets are a mess.
For anyone out there,
There’s bound to be stress.

The highways are flooded;
The subways are closed,
As “When will it stop?”
Is the question that’s posed.

With puddles ginormous,
The outlook is dark
And what’s brought to mind 
Is that biblical ark.

Some plans may be altered,
But that will depend
On when Nature decides
All this rain has to end.

Kind of Blue

Kind of Blue…

Slinking into a still hue of blues 
Haunting trumpets dart in and out
Like taxi horns in freeloading traffic
And cling like silk onto full figured rifs 
When winsome modal notes wear sleek cobalt 
 Where soulbeats throb from smoky bars 
Blue moods of so what
Sway like humid lovers on rainy nights
 To the clink of ice in shot glasses
  And afterhours shades of whisky, sweat and old scotch -
Smooth as muted cool 
Luxurious tracks of indigo distilled intimacy 
 Stretch without strict resolutions
Improv exhales unashamed sketches
Of empty barstools and empty arms
As modes of blue undress into serendipity
When newborn sounds wrap limbs around
 Old scores of stale melodic staves
Steady bass lines underscore mellow beats
 Unperturbed ruminating pulse,
Slow percussive murmurs 
Like rhythmic subways of all blues slow walking 
With mystic measures of ebb and neap attraction -
A perpetual kiss slides slow into a kind of blue.

City Life Bleeds On

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.

Not Even Fresh In the Earth

NYC, be very, ashamed!
One dead officer buried?
6th Avenue showed it’s honors!

The next day in gratitude,
You go out and destroy store shop owners?
No wonder death walks your streets.

Helpless women in smelly subways! 
are beaten or their deaths do meet.
Children are killed or in faces shot?

Yes, your stinking mandates, cause
death a lot.
Hidden behind idiotic masks.
You adore them, admit it. 
But on a dead policeman, you’d spit, in
a New York Minute?

                     1/31/2022

And a salute to  NYC’s finest. And all, in cities across the USA who lose their lives...that we live! THANK YOU. Hardly enough?

Cops Unmasked

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.

Normal People

Normal people come in packs of six
Some are born in cardboard boxes 
In suburbs, in summer, in campers
In the middle of the middle class
In clicks and clacks on railroad tracks

Rich people shower frequently in power
In God we trust the upper crust to laugh
Normal people want mobility Up
To supper in good company
To be pretty as a picture on the beach
To frolic in the waves of milk and honey

With apologies to Jesus people sing
Some dance in fire merrily

Normal people come in from the cold
Candy sweet and happy to be seen
Some come from baby factories  
From across the street in greeting seasons 

Middle class people love the poor
They love themselves much more
That is why babies are born

Subways are for the pedestrian class
Travelling from left to right transformative
In nature train people are always in motion
Moving on is always right
                      
The mundane remain the same
With Happy Hour and a six pack waiting
Somewhere down the line the land cracks open
It is another earthquake opened with a smile

Family Ties

around the clock 
busy loading up the dock 
the usual 9-5
except in your life
it's more like all day and night

fast forward to jersey city
commuting through subways
working till sundays
small apartment building
four kids and a love that's unyielding

london in the daytime is so beautiful 
bright lights and smiles so plentiful
but when the moon sets
and it is time to rest
 are you happy with where you are? 

you're all so busy in your own lives
with your own kids and your own wives
and that's okay, that's just life happening
but i can't ignore what other life is shattering
my grandfather, your dad, that helped you where you are now
where are you in his time of need anyhow 
since when did it mean that your life beginning meant dismissing his
when all he's done is raise the whole neighborhood and kids
do you remember feeling like being on top of the world
that's what happens when your dad keeps his word
so i'm only gonna say this once
are you family by blood or by ties
do something before your goodnights to him turn into goodbyes

It Smacks of Science Fiction

Written by Gail DeBole
on July 2, 2020
Updated on July 4, 2020

Yet another Coronavirus poem...

Songwriters are composing original tunes.
Poets are writing to cope with the gloom.
Masks on our faces.
Dread in our hearts.
Please don’t slip up and go back to the start.

Germaphobes can laugh and shake their heads.
Knowing all along they were right instead.
Egg on our faces.
Feet in our mouths.
Regretting every germ-joke ever allowed.

Politicians caring for hours on air.
News celebrities asking the questions that care.
CDC alerts that change by the day.
So much to do, and so much to say.

Subways and buses are so clean they squeak.
Tarmacs for airplanes are on a clean-streak.
Medical people checking fevers and such
You won’t pass through if your temp is too much.

The invisible monster wafts through the air.
It settles in victims and does not care
That it hurts humans. It’s really quite fair
Spreading drama equally and ignoring prayer. 

People worry when they go to a store.
What will greet them as they walk in the door?
The whole world is worried.
The whole world is scared.
And those who are not are common-sense bare.

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