Underground Poems - Poems about Underground

In the depths of silence, thoughts flow like underground rivers, where the moonlight stops to rest its weary wings, and time seems an illusion, a grain of sand lost in the hourglass of eternity, here, in the heart of silence, the thoughtful man crafts his own universe. There is no rest for the thinker, only endless journeys, among the shadows...

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I live in an underground house we built it eighteen years ago in a hill sloping south from the road, our home is invisible tree line of renegade shrubs hides us our roof is four foot off the ground in the back all of our windows and doors are in the front the back is a solid wall of concrete we live...

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(Snaps fingers rhythmically, leans into the mic) Ninety. X. Underground/ The hiss of the tape, a constant companion/ Atmospheric pressure, a concrete room, sweat slicked on foreheads, illuminated by a single bulb. These 90's beats… a pulse/ A heartbeat of asphalt jungles. Slick rhymes slithered, a venomous elegance, feeding the bumpin' heads, the Hip Hop...

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In the depths of my heart, where thoughts flow like underground rivers, a rosebud, dried and pressed between the dusty pages of time, awakens from its old slumber, like a dream that remembers its own story. It does not bloom like flowers opening their petals in the dawn of spring, but like something once lost, yet not forgotten, recalling...

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Hey buddy, let me tell you what's goin' down. Listen closely, you'll hear the sound of my kitchen, underground. What I'm cookin' is so hot, as it were, you might call it nuclear. I'll make some for him, some for her. I churn out the grub, hot and fast. My cooking's like a firehose blast. As much as I make, it won't last. I...

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gossip in the velvet declares my surrender to strip club excess, where fantasies unfold a g-string serenata that stains the linger a slow-mo ride through motels of the bold the DJ's drumbeat dares me to surrender to tangled trysts and transactions unclear a haze of haze, a burden to calamity the echoes of excess, lingering near i...

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Numb…jammed like rows of canned sardines, bodies avoiding faces labeled as print, ticket stubs, and coats on a 7 pm bullet train bound for home along dim lights on railways : shadows gaze blankly from tight decks cold frozen as still life masking their alienation through buried heaves under woolen scarves… And how...

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My own home. With a backyard garden to roam. But I’ll save it for the rabbits to eat. Watering plants would leave me beat. I could go to the pool. But I’d rather have an icy shower to keep me cool. There’s nothing wrong with this place. Except all the empty space. No photos on the walls. Not even a ghost to wander the...

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not going well this i've got a tattoo of a butterfly on my right cheek it will remain there til monday morning there's a bouncy castle and a bubble machine i'm smacking the hell out of the piñata on my daughter's behalf but nothing doing talking about industry and carbon emissions with the only other dad test cricket and the...

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An old world united. Attributes not known from the peace we campaigned. Enforced into an unknown war we currently endeavour. Utmost bower bird tactics, the uninvited dominantly proceed From above, streams vibrations throughout every sense of our actualities. Days follow nights accompanying collective conceptualisations. Wanting correlative wants with downhearted, optimistic, realism. Will I again feel wind or...

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you are calling for me with sweet melodies from the underworld, "Oh Persephone come back to me" imbued with sobs, negligently i slip into your arms - how dantesque of me to conjure an inferno upon me....

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Comes and goes in the streets silent moving voices graffiti on the walls...

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extensive empire vast confiscated castles ~ no time for bumbling...

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Distinction without difference Where shadows defame Laughter without smiles Embodied in shame Each story redundant Whose print stays uninked As eyes search for mercy That last —missing link (Las Vegas Boulevard: February, 2023)...

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It’s said that there are people, who live Beneath the ground. Deep within Earth’s middle, little folks can be found. Not Leprechauns or Gnomes with tempers; no Elves or Trolls, are to be seen. I’m told, they have some ghastly tempers; when prying eyes won’t leave them be. They often wander up above to play with human minds. ...

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