Subway Poem # 30

the boy was i'd say

of high school age

sitting composed

hands politely folded

on his lap

he was alone amid strangers

and he wore a pink wig

styled in movie star fashion

there are dreams inside i guess

that his face does not express

but i understand his pink wig

and after all

it's halloween

Subway Poem # 27

standing on the platform 

of atlantic avenue

the old tile sign

still reads

pacific street

even though

the stop is now called 

atlantic avenue - barclays center

things change through time

time changes things

even me

it seems even me

everything conveys the sense

that all things are a/k/a today

and known by many names

gone incognito

with various aliases

and you may ask

what's in a name

it's just that i 

feel sad about 

impermanence

and temporality

and my mortality

My 25th Subway Poem

Collective Unconsciousness

beneath, beneath

we move

without personal barriers

in our subterranean dream

 unreality, minds merge 

in common imaginings

within a space and time

we share

we're not alone

our weary souls unite

do not awake

communicate

in our subway subconsciences

under the surface

depth

gravity

we fly below

and sleep awake

in clouds beneath the ground

Subway Poem # 24

Deliverance

come you crippled, come you lame

journey to salvation

you with grievances lay blame

come in from the station

we ride through an underworld

railway to redemption

rest your heads, let them be crowned

during our ascension

sing you sinners for your peace

underneath your covers

let them be your golden fleece

let us all be lovers

rise into the brand new day

rise into the promise

on a track that doesn't stray --

tell the doubting thomas

here's where we step off today

here's where we transform

we are off and on our way

now we're safe and warm...

now we're safe from harm...

now we're safe and warm

Subway Poem # 23

The Fecund Air

from the fecund air of spring
to the underground in the morning
my emotions are constrained
and everybody's yawning

spring has sprung! spring has sprung!
why can't anybody seem to realize?
where are the dewy smiles of Life
sunshine kissed and fragranced?

why so glum? so ho-hum?
glazed, hazed eyes surround me
as if unaware of the season
wake up, i want to say...
   like a blossom,
   like a flower,
   like birds in a tree
and from the underground,
   push up!
      you're a flower
   rise up!
      you're a tree
you're a miracle of life
abounding
it's spring!
   like a bird
      rise
like a canary from a cavern
back to life
in the sun,
in the fecund air
of springtime

Subway Poem # 22

The X People

john and jane doe

incognito

bundled and blended 

in black

expressionless faceless faces

contained and content

in their anonymity

defensive

deflecting

hermetic 

over coffee cups

and the daily news

Subway Poem # 21

Monodialogue

reciting

a dark and epic poem

in the windows of the doors

every time they close

to a scornful reflection

humiliating, berating, demeaning himself

with hateful hurtful words

his stop reached

he steps off

merging on the platform amongst commuters

silently taking his place 

just part of the crowd, the crush, the rush

he and his reflection

Subway Poem #20

I begin the year with the 20th poem in my Subway Poems series, all of which are featured in this blog's archives. It's a pithy one.

Subway Poem #20

trundled

through cruel dark tunnels,

coffee stains of desperation, 

lit through dark hollows.

 arise and

stay clear of the closing doors.

Subway Poem # 19

trapped in thoughts

contained on a train

the rush

through underground

though thoughts rush faster 

scattered through my brain

while streets above me

lie swept with lights

like a jewel box spilled

i move beneath Christmas

among the throng

Subway Poem # 17

Exhibitionists

unflattering light.
we stare at one another
then look away, take note of poker faces
caught off guard,
fashion faux pas,
thumbnail impressions
of expressions,
suddenly all laid bare
in the glowering glare.
we sit to be seen.

Poetry Corner 8/30/12

Two poems this time: the 15th poem in my Subway series and one totally unrelated to subway matters:

Subway Poem #15:

Linear Choreography

we're at the mad ball

in a whirl

moving fast

the man in blue blazer

walks up, confronts, looks at me

in a frozen second

then we step aside,

pass by, move on

to anonymous partner after partner

repeating the steps

we walk towards one another

then dart past

without missing a beat, a step,

never stopping

in linear choreography --

aggression, 

seduction, 

self absorption,

we tease that we are one 

then sunder

to the thunder of the train,

preparing to leave the platform dance

 

The Snow Queen

It was so warm inside,

stoked fireplace.

Outside, it snowed.

Through the bay window I could see my Mother

buried beneath blankets

near a wood pile.

She's cold, I told my Father,

We need to get her inside.

I'll carry her in.

I need you to hold open the door.

Your Brother isn't here to help, he said.

I'm too old and it's too cold at the door.

And so I sat at the window,

watched it snow,

re-imagining my plans.

Subway Poem #14

fist clutches steel

eyes closed

morning comes too early

but here's the dance of a young man

in fresh construction clothes

keeping his sleepy balance on a hurtling car

poll dancer through our underworld

if he would slowly undress for us

tear off constraints of morning

the work day

the weary world of toil

through tunnels to salt mines

our icon

effigy

idol

sculpted flesh freed from daily artifice

amongst others standing and seated

sipping paper cups of coffee

the packed house barely sees his moves

in tribal theater

but i watch 

enthralled

as he balances

with shifting feet

there is movement and life

he swings and stomps with clumsy grace

reminding us

we are all dancers

hustling for poise

till the whistle blows at sundown

and we slowly can undress

Subway Poem #13

Taken on my iPhone on the R train

nowhere to run, nowhere to hide

on this fresh morning's big thrill ride.
over the river and through the hoods,
shoulder bag to stash my goods,
firmly grasping cup of joe,
ferries, docks, dumbo below.
at steeplechase and luna parks
the rides go round or move in arcs
but on the express train we abridge
stops underground and take the bridge
from bay ridge well into manhattan
with folks around me speaking latin,
happy happy as a lark
whence it comes time to disembark.

My 11th Subway Poem

Is poetry your groove? Then you've come to the right place. Just put some bongo music on your hifi and pass the espresso. Novices note, this was where it all began for me, complete with my confession:

http://djbuddybeaverhausen.blogspot.com/2012/06/subway-poem-1.html

The 11th in my Subway Series. I call it:

Clocks

i gauge the time 

by people's faces, 

those familiar, 

reliable as sundials.

unknown, seen routinely,

here they are

for me to read whether

i'll be late or right

on time.

it's the company i keep

in the car, time in transit,

time through the tunnels through time,

comforted by faces

seen before 

once and again and again as

they've seen mine, 

gentle assurances

like clocks

on subway walls.

Subway Poem # 10

A lighthearted ditty for this summery day in light of breaking news. (And it's all true!) As wisely suggested to me, I am now naming the subway poems:

The Way Out

we were on the e train once

alone. together.

nobody spoke or stared

 at the subway celebrity; 

i thought it odd he took the train,

in my car, like salt of the earth,

he could have had his magic carpet come.

off we stepped: chelsea, 

suit slung over shoulder,

dry-cleaning bag,

dressed down,

bluejeans, sneakers, t-shirt.

 not much taller than me, 

larger on tv;

where does he find 

his workout time?

he's much busier than i.

we moved parallel

down the platform 

towards the far exit

as if
on our own underground tracks.

 finally,

he turned to me,
smiled.

i smiled back, 

an acknowledgement.

out from underground together.

Subway Poem # 9

See reflected in others the point/counterpoint to myself every day, the common human threads that connect us, and the erotic in the mundane.

Subway Poem # 9

tall good-looking man

rests his eyes 

on the morning ride

to the office

but his

long legs 

are active

jittery knees pump

hydraulic

big shiny black shoes

clump

heels stump toes tap

despite the composed face

and serene

hands

cupped between muscular thighs

constrained by navy trousers

i sip my coffee

my morning angst

stayed in bed

Subway Post # 8

The message is the medium on the subways in New York.

Subway Poem #8

omnipresent advertising

hammered and slammed

scammed

in endless regurgitation

at each stop.

mad ave slop

for commuters

and prospective consumers

slouched over their morning coffee.

without blinking an eye.

images in a hallucinatory caffeine fantasy

fill the car

with the Broadway show,

bank

and brewski,

ad infinitum

and the ride rides on

as we ponder

if we should switch

our fabric
softeners.

Subway Poem # 7

A bird in the subway is worth two in the air, I always say.

Subway Poem # 7

a man with a parrot perched 

on his shoulder,

in time with me,

parallel, down the stairs.

unfazed the bird

of royal blue plumage,

unfazed the man

with ruby in ear.

and then we part ways

                                                                                    on the platform.

                                                          (they're queens-bound.)

                                                                                        the parrot that travels

                                                                                      with man 

                                                                                       underground.

Today's Subway Poem, 6/19/12

I only discovered, shortly after writing this & per The New York Times, that the hydrangea is the official flower of Bay Ridge. Who knew?

 Subway Poem #6

fecund lawns of summer

meet me.

stairway ascendant to street,

down the pavement,

i move

past hydrangeas

exploded on circular bushes

petals purple and pink

on well-tended lawns

smelling of wet grass, of soil.

from the tunnel, away from the salt

of the earth,

a long journey 

to the fertile margins

home.

Subway Poems: No. 5

Subway Poem # 5

fatigued, fagged out,

fried,

glide into unconsciousness.

"don't sleep in the subway, darlin';"

pet clark warned us in '67.

how i've forgotten

sage advice.

pulling away

from morpheus' embrace

to the glare of lights

at atlantic/pacific streets,

seated directly across from

a girl with 

 serious beehive 

balanced

on her head

and, down the aisle,

three latinas with

artfully plucked eyebrows,

i wonder

where i've arrived

to arrive

back in time

this time.