Standing passengers in grief!
Bus travel,
Many commuters sleep in comfortable seats,
Standing passengers in grief!
Overload beyond capacity,
Bus negotiating the uphill,
Engine struggles!
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Joy on the Trains at Jubilee Time
At the station, the platform is packed.
Soon our train is heading down the track.
As our London-bound train slowly approaches,
I am surprised by the evident lack of coaches.
The ensuing rush to get on, is all rather manic.
The Guard blows his whistle and everyone panics.
Upon the platform, there's soon no one left,
But many new passengers are out of breath.
Once onboard, there is standing room only:
There's certainly no chance of being lonely.
Of vacant seats, I see there is a major lack,
So I stand, holding on to the luggage rack.
Some people are huddled up by the doors,
Whilst others plump for a seat on the floor.
At the next station, they don't release all the doors:
Our already packed train can only take a few more.
By the time that our train reaches Woking,
It's a real nightmare - I wish I was joking,
But passengers are left abandoned on the platform:
Their faces disappointed, they all look so forlorn.
I overhear a number of passengers complain
About the distinct lack of carriages on our train.
During my journey, I spend most of my time
Thinking up sentences which, nicely, rhyme.
By the time our train pulls in to Waterloo,
With my new poem, I am almost through.
We're ten minutes late and the Guard explains
This was due to passengers boarding the train.
When I head home again, it is getting quite late.
And the number of carriages now totals eight.
No one is standing: everybody has a seat.
I travel home in comfort. Oh, what a treat!
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Stag Party
To the ‘stags' standing up in my carriage,
I realise that one of you is soon to be married,
But please couldn't all of you just take a seat?
And do I really have to listen to that beat?
No doubt you'll all be out on the town tonight,
But to disturb other passengers, you have no right.
Your spirits are obviously soaring way up high,
And I notice that the Guard has turned a blind eye.
Your weekend of fun, I do not wish to mar,
But you are on a train, lads: not in a bar!
You've all obviously had quite a bit to drink:
I wonder what our fellow passengers all think?
Why don't you save the high jinks for later on?
Then, if you want, you can even burst into song!
I had been planning to sit here and read my book,
But, out of the train window, I now sit and look.
The seats on the other carriages were mostly reserved.
Tone it down a bit! You're getting right on my nerves!
This particular carriage, I had no choice, but to pick,
And you guys are really starting to get on my wick.
You're chatting non-stop and laughing out loud:
Why do you have to be such an annoying crowd?
For other passengers, you have no consideration,
And I'm glad that you're leaving at the next station.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Steam Dreams
In this day of electric and diesel, very rarely is seen,
A shining locomotive, which is powered by steam.
Back in the days, when my parents were born,
The sight of a steam train was quite the norm.
Whenever a steam train catches my eye,
I stand, watching in awe, as it passes by.
‘Oh wow! Look! ’ I say, as I point a finger,
And the memory of it in my mind will linger.
Steam trains will never completely die out,
As, thankfully, there’s still quite a few about.
About a steam train, there’s something really quite dramatic.
And at the chance of riding on one, people are often ecstatic.
I remember seeing The Flying Scotsman at Salisbury station,
And I stood there marvelling at it with such great admiration.
The engine and all of its carriages just looked so smart.
The sight of such a train, never fails to quicken the heart.
Steam trains are so very elegant in their style.
To spot one, enthusiasts will travel many a mile.
It strange to think that years ago, they were all the rage,
When, they are such a very rare sight, in this day and age.
The sight of the world famous Orient Express,
Is one which will never ever fail to impress.
Through the windows, you can see the plush seats,
Where excited passengers will sit down and eat.
On board, the historic carriages of brown and cream,
They serve expensive champagne and gourmet cuisine.
Sat in a world of pure indulgence, passengers glide,
Through the green and pleasant British countryside.
The carriages have all been restored to their former glory;
If they could talk, I’m sure they could all share quite a story.
The carriages have been described as ‘palaces on wheels’,
And I would really love to know just how that feels.
Still being a very rare sight in these modern times,
I fancy taking a trip on a steam train, to sit and dine.
I guess you would have to pay quite a princely sum,
But I think it would be worth it, just to travel on one.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Empty Stations
Orbs of light drifted in the window
Along with coffee spells and smoke
The cold comes down with the dark
Quietly rippling the engine's roar
And sleep struggles to tranquilize
The hysteric sea resurging inside
In this transitory life I have waited
To be filled like an empty station
Marauded by forlorn passengers
Looking for right doors, numbers,
And tickets and vacancies;
I watched them mordantly
Remembering how hopeless
It is to search and stay,
Our feet are made for departing
Our arms for their arrival
And we can only waltz
To an inconsistent forever
In the plenitude of doors
And sleeping stations
Knocks would always arrive
Like a meaningless song
And some would come in,
Some would come out,
Tired, uninspired; searching
Hopeful, open; found
In this groaning repose,
Veiled by tobacco scent and
Shielded by a sooty window,
I held my ticket waiting to be torn
As I futilely wait for my own peace
When sleep heralds the night
And shifting unconscious states
Where you remained alive.
poem by Norman Santos
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Evening walk
Aimless mind slap bang
Coated out to spring
Dressed up, bear body hiding
Set out the old road along
The bus or the tram
Unless may be the train
To right or the left no plan
Time and space came
The side where I belonged to
The tram was on way from left to
Undecided space came think to
Opened the door just get into
Passengers were on seats
Passersby were in streets
Seemed to be direct targets
Looking at their end points
Planned and minded among
Blank and aimless I am
Getting down one by one
One and only in I am
Reverse way to the direction
Same as the tram to go again
Waiting for till times come
End or the beginning no aim
Passengers were on seats
Passersby were in streets
Driver is on the seat
I am also on my seat
All they know their aim
I don't have a plan
Left or the right same
Just for the pass time
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Standing On The Edge
There's a message on my bed
A new engraving in my overloading head
Feel the walls are caving in
As the wire cuts into my butter skin
Overload, love's the antidote we need
Love's the antidote we really need
When you're all by yourself
Standing on the edge of the world
Take a look at yourself
Don't fall back in
I thought I'd shot my conscience dead
But he's come back again to break my china head
Blown a hole right through my dream
Brought me back to earth in a rocket made for one
Overload, love's the antidote we need
It's the antidote we really need
When you're all by yourself
Standing on the edge of the world
Take a look at yourself
Don't fall back in
'Cause when you're all by yourself
Standing on the edge of the world
Take a look at yourself
Don't fall back in
Don't fall back in
song performed by by Feeder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Engine that Keeps Us Running
At the end of the sidewalk
There is a turn
Near the end of the road
There is an exit
Our engines run together
Never turning separately
But in union
And together
We never exit the road we travel
The love we have for one another
Is our engine
An engine that no one can duplicate
That no one can force into exit
That no one can expire
Together
Our fuel never runs out
We are champions of a mass race
Apart
The coolant cannot cool
The steering wheel cannot steer
The wheels cannot turn
The oil starts to leak
And our engine cannot breathe
Until our engines fall apart
And we cannot race together anymore
Into the heavens we will be
Our engines will be known
For their ability to run together
In union
Through all our life
And others will wonder
How, through so many glitches
We have still made it
And we have managed to fix all errors
And others will wonder
How we kept each other running
Through many engine stalls
And through so many leaks
People will wonder
How we always managed to patch those leaks
And with every spark
We have always started up again
Our engines
Are infamous
Are great
Cannot be copied
Cannot be managed by anyone
But ourselves
Without your engine
My engine would be stalled
With a little spark
We are back in the race
The never ending race
That will only keep us side by side
Until the end of our engine life days
poem by Diana Poems
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Talk Show Host
I can't describe the pressure of the hype
Another show they'll have your vein opened up again
But it's all the same they way they sell the game
Sucking out the feeling so you'll never win
Overload...in stereo...I'm sweating like a talk show host tonight
Overload...in stereo...I'm sweating like a talk show host tonight
Despite the high that tends to come out live
The repetition seems to grab the flare away
The radio it seems so shady oh
I'll never hear myself just quite the same again
Overload...in stereo...I'm sweating like a talk show host tonight
Overload...in stereo...I'm sweating like a talk show host tonight
I'll see you on the way down
Overload...in stereo...I'm sweating like a talk show host tonight
Overload...in stereo...I'm sweating like a talk show host tonight
Tonight
Tonight
Tonight
Tonight
song performed by by Flickerstick from Welcoming Home The Astronauts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Are The Everything
Sometimes I feel like I cant even sing (say, say, the light)
Im very scared for this world
Im very scared for me
Eviscerate your memory
Heres a scene
Youre in the back seat laying down
The windows wrap around
To sound of the travel and the engine
All you hear is time stand still in travel
And feel such peace and absolute
The stillness still that doesnt end
But slowly drifts into sleep
The stars are the greatest thing youve ever seen
And theyre there for you
For you alone you are the everything
I think about this world a lot and I cry
And Ive seen the films and the eyes
But Im in this kitchen
Everything is beautiful
And she is so beautiful
She is so young and old
I look at her and I see the beauty
Of the light of music
The voices talking somewhere in the house
Late spring and youre drifting off to sleep
With your teeth in your mouth
You are here with me
You are here with me
You have been here and you are everything
(repeat 1st verse)
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There is no law of progress. Our future is in our own hands, to make or to mar. It will be an uphill fight to the end, and would we have it otherwise Let no one suppose that evolution will ever exempt us from struggles. 'You forget,' said the Devil, with a chuckle, 'that I have been evolving too.'
quote by William Ralph Inge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Very Comfortable!
Soft,
Very comfortable!
But, if you can't sleep on it,
Give it to another person to do so.
Be the first to read,
Be the first to understand,
Be the first to learn;
Soft,
Very comfortable!
But, are you ready to sleep on it?
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Myself with you.
You cannot stop this engine
From running
Fed as it is with the nuclear energy
Of self-determination
You cannot block this again with
Any call for kindness your face of sobriety & propriety
Sustained as it is with the pride
Of its sufficiency, this engine of life
Away from human drama this engine
Of love and belief of self
Plunges into an eternal destination
Or damnation, or whatever
This engine must go, on and on
Unstoppable unconquered unhindered
This engine I call
Myself with you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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64
Myself with you.
You cannot stop this engine
From running
Fed as it is with the nuclear energy
Of self-determination
You cannot block this again with
Any call for kindness your face of sobriety & propriety
Sustained as it is with the pride
Of its sufficiency, this engine of life
Away from human drama this engine
Of love and belief of self
Plunges into an eternal destination
Or damnation, or whatever
This engine must go, on and on
Unstoppable unconquered unhindered
This engine I call
Myself with you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There isn't a coliseum any more, but the city is a bigger bowl, and it seats more people. The razor-sharp claws aren't those of wild animals but man's can be just as sharp and twice as vicious. You have to be quick, and you have to be able, or you become one of the devoured, and if you can kill first, no matter how and no matter who, you can live and return to the comfortable chair and the comfortable fire. But you have to be quick. And able. Or you'll be dead.
quote by Mickey Spillane
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I Traveled Once by a Spare-bus!
I traveled once by a spare-bus;
It was from my grand-mother’s house;
I was in hurry and therefore,
I boarded the bus, my college to go.
The seats looked ripped and so much torn;
The old-bus’ body’s bad weld shown;
The iron frame-work shocked to touch;
The window’s glass looked cracked so much;
Without good lights, the bus was dark;
Across the road came dogs to bark;
The diesel-engine’s cranky noise,
Drowned the passengers’ loudest voice.
The cassette played a hoarse, dull song;
All had to listen to the gong;
The conductor, a man quite stout,
‘Tickets, tickets, ’ he began to shout.
While the bus sped up curved roads,
The golden moon too sailed thro’ clouds;
And when it rained, the water came,
Thro’ windows, roof- Oh, what a shame!
Despite all shutters downed (half-torn) ,
The bus was almost flooded soon;
The driver drove the bus so fast,
And soon, we were amidst the ghats.
My body was in severe pain,
For hours, it was a torrential rain;
The driver honked: a dog had crossed!
The bus came to a halt and paused.
The bus was stopped by an old cop;
And very late, I reached my stop;
‘Oh, What a journey! ’ I then thought,
My travel by a spare-bus brought!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-25-2006
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Got My Feet On The Ground
I wanna lot out of life, but I know my limitations
Guess I want a lot of things and got my inclinations
Got my feet on the ground, and Im standing on my own
I dont need no one
I dont need no one
Ive learned a lot out of life, watchin other folks mistakes
Funny things that they can get for finding out too late
I got my feet on the ground, and Im standing on my own
I dont need no one
I dont need no one
Well I dont need nobody else
All I needs a single ticket
When I travel on my own
Not afraid to be alone
I got my feet upon the ground, and Im standing on my own
When I travel far and wide
And looking for a four leaf clover
Dont mind if I cant find it, got no chip upon my shoulder
Got my feet on the ground, and Im standing on my own
I dont need no one
I dont need no one
Well I dont need nobody else
All I needs a single ticket
When I travel on my own
Not afraid to be alone
I got my feet upon the ground, and Im standing on my own
When I travel far and wide
And looking for a four leaf clover
Dont mind if I cant find it, got no chip upon my shoulder
Got my feet on the ground, and Im standing on my own
I dont need no one
I dont need no one
(repeat)
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The way to Heaven is ascending; we must be content to travel uphill, though it be hard and tiresome, and contrary to the natural bias of our flesh.
quote by Jonathan Edwards
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Humanity should question itself, once more, about the absurd and always unfair phenomenon of war, on whose stage of death and pain only remain standing the negotiating table that could and should have prevented it.
quote by Pope John Paul II
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When you travel, remember that a foreign country is not designed to make you comfortable. It is designed to make its own people comfortable.
quote by Clifton Fadiman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The 6.15 from Paddington - Steam Days
The 6.15 from Paddinton goes chugging down the track,
The Guard blows on his whistle, and the engine whistles back.
The carriages are following, swaying as they go,
The passengers are also swaying to and fro.
Through Maidenhead, Reading and Newbury in Berks,
The monster travels onwards, with steam, grey smoke and sparks.
Past Swindon down in Wiltshire and then Chipping Sodbury,
Through tunnels, over bridges, always in a 'big' hurry.
The countryside goes whooshing by, as we travel on,
With fields, lanes and cottages, one moment seen, then gone.
Villages, farms and valleys, tree clad hills and downs,
Flashing past the windows, with 'swishy swooshy' sounds.
It now approaches Bristol, the driver applies the brakes,
With screeching and with creaking, what a hullabaloo it makes.
It's reached it's destination where the Porter and the Clerk,
Will check on all the passengers, before they disembark.
The loud station announcer declares she's the next train out,
The fireman stokes the boiler, and the green flag's waved about.
The train is off and whistles, as it thunders out of view,
The trails of smoke are lifting and the sun is breaking through.
The 6.15 from Paddington is now on her way to Wales,
To Cardiff and to Swansea, for the shops and summer sales.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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