Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Faye Sep 15
153
The mist on the fields,
Is as thick as the fog in my brain,
It’s early but it’s been hours since the sun set
And rose, like I did, waking slowly,
Moving across the planes
To get where we’re going.

The mist is outside, the window a barrier
Between the damp blinding confusion,
And the refulgent interior of the train,
Somehow, like a plague, it crept inside
At the beginning of the journey,
The first time the doors opened,
And all the eyes are dampened,
With uneasy fatigue, belonging
To the early risers and the late sleepers.

It curls around ears, settles on the skin
And sticks to the cheeks of the tired,
The lonely and the quiet travellers,
Who have a purpose, but no soul
And it settles on their hearts,
It blinds them all day, or,
Finally gives way
When the day comes to an end,
And the night lures them
Like a friend,
Waiting with open arms to receive them.
Faye Sep 14
147
Like sardines in a tin can,
No individuality among men,
We’re all pressed close together,
Tightly, the metal barely able to contain us
And the lid is pulled back, the pressure relieved.

The postman is on her way to deliver us,
Letter for letter, to the correct address,
Some delivered with haste, and others
Regrettably, too late,
Some just in the nick of time.

Fish with feet,
They crowd the escalators,
Flop down the stairs,
Through the gates and into the city,
roaming the streets
Until they find their bowls and lose their shoes
There they swim round and round,
until its time to go back to the river,
to be caught all over the next day again.
rig Jul 3
a8
grey summer start.
garbage, tree, new kids on the block.

to the ghost fair my feet have never known living.

to the soft metal scales on the tar snake,
going back in time to tomorrow’s mouse:
allthesame.

to a croatian hill of potential notdeath,
bypassed, everytime, gooddriving.

to lisboncity – no sneezing.
Leah Hilliges May 20
The old man who
Quietly observed the 5am commuters
Demanded no reciprocation
And the few who knew him
Grew accustomed to his presence
As their wallets thickened
And their backpacks were exchanged for briefcases,

The old man who
Quietly observed the 5am commuters
Saw the few who knew him
Slowly lose their curiosity
And their youthful naivety
To the noiseless bureaucracy
That stains those jobs
That demand a 5am commute,

The old man
Quietly observed the 5am commuters
Until one day he didn’t
And the few who knew him
No longer took the 5am train
In the paper lives they’d shaped
And quickly forgot the old man,

How sad,
that none of their cases could find the space
To hold the soul of the gentleman.
bloodKl0tz Jan 27
A train sits idle
Driver turns off the headlights
Helps my night vision

Flying past cop car,
Headlights turn on in rear-view,
Turn off, I can breathe

Oncoming driver,
Flash my lights to warn them
Of deer or police

At small town train tracks
Car flashes brights at random,
Left me quite confused
Brian Turner Oct 2020
Rounding the corner
Walking from the house  
I'm thinking of my work day
Thinking what to say

Back through the woods
Smiling at the horse
Up through the copse
Strutting through the coarse

Down the busy road
Cars start to toot
Home beckons soon
Ending my fake commute
Inspired by the 'fake commute' story from the Guardian.co.uk where people are walking are taking a false drive in the morning as they miss their commute to work. It's interesting how we hang on to habits.
Kevin Hudson Oct 2020
the endless construction of the industrial landscape
of jersey barriers & orange cones and workers with coffees
& expensive work & gear
police stand by...
Amanda Hawkins May 2020
we take the same train everyday
I don’t know your name nor where you come from
what a joy is to see your face once more before we part ways again
but the moment the train moves
the rumble of my heart lead the way
stead fast, the scenery of steeping in Front of emotion
track after track
winding and twisting with nothing to block the way
the express route to desire
your astonishing beauty
Is my favorite stop
love at first sight
I wish I could've told you how I felt
I wish I could've held your hands
before alighting the train
Amanda Hawkins May 2020
destination unknown
surrounded by people yet feeling alone
what have I done?
the world’s greatest game
is when you miss the stop
but you won’t feel the shame
le petite mort on replay
and for her bottom I was the perfect top
who’s there to blame ? ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Next page