A distant mumble, a muffled drum roll.
Seconds on, come the serious decibels.
Heavy rumbling with sharp percussions.
Squeal of the steel; wheel scraping on the rail.
Metal clatter loudens then dies to silence.
Spent fares alight and new fares climb aboard.
Ting ting. The cream and green is off again,
Above it, brief flashes of lightning blue
As straying volts are lost to salty air.
Soon far off the rumbling fading away.
She's lost in thought,
Childhood memories flash through her,
They come like torrents,
Opening the door to her mind,
In her, her past finds a place.
She reminisces on fond and bitter memories,
A deluge of stories,
Separated from her family at an early age,
She journeyed through the unknown,
She was saddled with the untold.
She walked through eerie nights,
She was cocooned in life's shadows,
She sojourned through shrivelled meadows,
Gradually she walked towards the light,
A helping hand reached for her.
Tears stream down her eyes,
She turns around,
The newspaper has a hold on the man,
The ladies are neck-deep in their discussion,
A man looks away probably lost as she was.
September 24, 2023.
Paul Gustave Fischer Painter - the tram
It was the early days of the electric tram,
the cars could hold twenty people only;
much less when there were mothers with a pram,
often, I saw people who looked quite lonely !
I was dressed up in my new frock and hat,
the reason for this trip was my birthday;
on the bench seating mom and auntie sat,
I stood as the tram would bounce and sway !
I loved watching the downtown scenes going by,
we (Mom and Auntie) were going shopping;
on this lovely, beautiful, sunny day in July,
oh, some of the things I saw were quite eye-popping !
I seldom had a chance to go downtown,
sometimes, the tram would slow down then speed up;
when we arrived I wanted to see all the stores around,
then, we would have tea served in a fancy cup !
A man holding a cute pup was not allowed on,
and an old man was stopped who looked real poor;
I paid the three cents so the old man could come-on,
the conductor said- I was a nice girl and a real kind-doer !
Tram has, recently, become my favorite travel mode,
At the young and old, whom I come across, I smile gently;
Each, in their world, like flies and bees, and beasts has their own code,
Women, gossip, listening to the other intently...!
As the news is often negative and pessimistic,
I glance through the cartoon corner of the morning gazette;
I carry with me poems and writings optimistic,
With all these, in equilibrium, my psyche gets set...!
The police, herein, is a person, matter-of-factly,
The man in his fifties, like an artist, enjoys the scenes,
The young girl, therein, seems to dream a day-dream abstractly,
This tram, for me, is, no doubt, a pleasant traveling means...!
Though little I talk, vibes within and around me, are grand,
These are enough, for today's stresses and strains to withstand...!
picture 3. You are one of the passengers
Playing over and over the video of tram in Alexanderplatz
forever coming to a halt upon the line.
People waiting over and over for what they'll never board,
but I find it soothing to behold.
Playing over and over the yellow tram
and hearing the mellow sound upon the rails.
The German man steps forward, but will never board
for the tram begins once more to come, but never does.
4/3/2020
TRAM BELL
Steep streets everywhere you played,
Where your football would roll away forever;
And sawdust spilt out of the butcher’s onto the steep sidewalk
Among the feet of the tram queue,
All listening keenly to hear the bell sounding
From the tram which was overdue.
All gazing distantly over the rainy Team Valley
And its mills and foundries turning coal
Into steel bridges and ship hulls
For the steeply entrenched Tyne.
At the bell’s sound, everybody shuffled forward,
Leaving the sawdust footprints
To be washed away in the rain.
Lifting tram rails in 1940,
he was aware of the Louvre...
was aware of a cameraman.
Now we see a black and white world,
where leaves on trees have shed their green,
and the sky is a wish-washy grey...
We see the tram rails piled untidily,
and a bicycle boy on right
fearing he'll be late for school.
We see his and rail man's Paris of 1940
with years ahead of war in Europe,
and now bereft of trams.
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7/10/2015
Contest - Open Poetry
Sponsor - Charlotte Puddifoot
4th place win
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Featured poem for week of Sunday, 14th February, 2016.
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