Notes From A Metro Line

Search and Rescue inspect the subway after 9-11 attacks.

Trade Center – MBTA Silver_Line

 

Dverse poets asked us to write about what we learnt or felt about times that have gone from Darkness to the Light. Since tomorrow is the anniversary of 9-11, I decided to write a poem about the destruction of the subway, a rather dark place, even when there aren’t terrorist attacks. However, since WTC came down, the MBTA station has been rebuilt and is quite a bright and beautiful place.

fragile arcs caught by gleaming hues
weave magic, elude sight.
silver crowned unicorns
curl on incoming rainbow,
decamp south
to lodge from journeys end,
awake from oblivion,
like jewels on an inanimate face.

embittered minutemen
on the express, caress collision.
metropolitan heroes
crushed on rush hour train,
breathe the stench
of another’s warm lunch sandwich,
slick lettuce curled,
no time for consumption.

subway spray overlays
vacuous white non-visaged,
empty headed faces forward —
flutter in spiritual positions
most humans occupy these days.

on the intimate horizon,
though a dark pane,
a plethora of iridescent
glow-in-the-dark paint splatter
stupefies artistic vision.

green ocean spray choreography
river snakes unnoticed,
stealing along shiny park grass,
through faux city boulevards
dumped beyond urban walls.

as we ride the rattle can,
angels fly in masterpieces
strewn around fairy tale readings
found in museums above.

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Hear this on Sound Cloud

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Written for:

Poetics–Bringing Light to Darkness

Image credits: wikepedia entry World Trade Center (MBTA station) and North Shore Journal Article September 11 – photos to remember that day

Olympic Torch Senryu

In the face of oppression the Olympic torch is carried through Britain alongside a Pit Bull. Maybe one day BSL will be lifted there and sights like this won’t be extraordinary.

shouting clear and loud
“eradicate B.S.L”
Our Olympic Torch

running with THE Torch
loving best friend at his side
limitless meanings

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Hear this on chirbit

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Written for:

Prompt #154 – Meaning

Also written for:

#328 – Limitless

Also posted on:

haiku my heart summer rain

Photos credits: Facebook

duty to challenge

WTO protests in Seattle in 1999 - Police on Duty

fulfillment hidden by withdrawal symptoms
addiction gradually becomes
cumbersome, extreme irrelevance

emotion exceeds zero, then,
divides into work, sleep, play
only on instinctive levels

positive thinking circuits destroyed
new themes reluctantly assumed
obligation to care withheld

poison bubbles in the gullet
personality collapses
sense of duty doesn’t last long

as the brain suspends in a game world
of uncomfortable losses
failure cannot be forgiven

duty to one’s depressions
resurrects thick intermediate layers
in the transition barrel

arguments cause least of all irritation
frustration-burnout abandons in self-consciousness
for the sake of neutrality, challenge the government

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Written for:

Poetics: Duty Calls!

Prompt, by ManicDDaily, was to write a poem about duty or obligation.

Photo credit: The Boston Phoenix

ylamb’s wool

From Boris Hoppek’s Tokyo exhibit “Ever”

lamb’s wool

soporific
stupefacient
slumberous
snooziness
soothingly sedative

solace
softness
serenity
snug
sufficient satisfaction

sentimental
succor
spiritual
seductive
stirringly stimulating

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Hear this on chirbit

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Written and Posted:
Magpie Tales – Mag 101

Also posted on:

Thursday Letter – L

Numb Inducing

Numb inducing expectations
accumulate like broken glass
on a marble tile floor.

Cut nerves of your skin
self-repair like lines of ants
following in an unnatural path.

I shrink to their level —
work in the mulch, in the compost.

Sadly my eyes drop; you fill me
with little shots of pain as
I carry ten times more than you need.

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Hear this on chirbit

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Written and posted on:

 dversepoets “meeting-the-bar-critique-and-craft”

The challenge was to write a poem that participants can critique and fix.

So here is my post. I apologize to anyone who is looking for the types of poems you are used to seeing here. This is exactly the kind of thing I never wanted to post online, and also, I no longer write this kind of poetry. I wrote this in 2001 and never bothered to fix it up. So please, have at it. How do I fix this?  I can only learn from what you have to say.

Also posted on:

Thursday Letter – N

Photo Credit: cdn2.arkive.org

Messy Little Girl

Messy Little Girl

Mama’s gone shopping,
time to uproot.
Grandma won’t mind
if there’s dirt on the fruit.

Messy little girl,
spits on the soil
plays a crazy game
rolls up roots in a coil.

Who wrote the rules
whence plants must stay;
when there are no friends
who can come and play?

Messy little girl
turned over the pot.
The plant might live
Or perhaps, it might not.

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Written for:

I was asked by someone involved with bluebell to write something about this image, which is credited to mnn.com -> Mother Nature’s Network. I figured, why not, and even made it rhyme.

Posted on:

Open Link Night ~ Week 39

Also posted on:

M is for Me me me!