Hello Poetry is a poetry community that raises money by advertising to passing readers like yourself.

If you're into poetry and meeting other poets, join us to remove ads and share your poetry. It's totally free.
Sindi Kay Oct 19
***** subway floors
Good commutes

Up these Gotham city walls

Water dripping down a ***** stall

Cold winter cough you can hear
Homeless mans stare
on your case
Guilt and relief mold your face
em Oct 17
The Brooklyn bound subway train
is at its last stop. The doors
linger (a wide maw, drooling, as
it chomps in the tired commuters.)
Now, the message flashes, quietly,
white against clear black: the
date, time, and "Thank you for riding
with NYCT!" Only decades ago
would a solemn
golden token lie beneath
a twisted coffee cup, doling out drops
to the ***** platform. But always,
it's been a mosaic,
a unified mood: the worn wood seats,
the cold rush of air, the
air bubbles pressed into the window.
The advertisements slipped
into the light's plastic; the falser
red lights, dull in the grimy tunnel,
and blurry, like crying
dragon's eyes.
Tim S Sep 7
The quiet station
Your lips were poised to meet mine.
I hesitated.
Can't remember who this is about. Clearly, I didn't follow through.
BasilLvoff Aug 8
Drizzle, mizzle, mizzle, drizzle, drip.
Boiling coffee, gray newspaper, sip.
Boring neighbors upstairs stomp and cough.
In New York, no one’s a theosoph.

Drip, drop, drizzle, drip, drop, drizzle, splash.
Puddles, hurdles, honking, stinky trash.
And “excuse me! Sorry! Getting off?!”
The sky is dull and gray like a damp cloth.

But lo! And don’t get blind! Midst shouts of fear
And joyful cries,
With cherubs at his side,
Lightening the skies,
Dazzling to sight
Westwards he dashes, the radiant charioteer.
Bryden Jul 24
I push the button,
The jaws of the train clunk as its mouth opens,
the 9am crowd surging through its hollow body,
eying up the row of sickly plastic benches.
The wheels tighten, I loosen my tie,
off to the office, I sigh,
as I pull out today’s ‘New York Times’.

My eyes drift towards the woman across from me.
A fragrance of citrus and strawberry drifts off her shoulder
as she plumps her pout in the screen of her smartphone.
A bead of sweat poised on her collarbone
glitters like the diamantes on her nails.

We slow,
screeching against the rusted tracks
before the machine-lady hybrid speaks:
a split second pause
-Sixty Seven Street’.
No one gets off, so we simply sit
beneath the sizzle of electric bulbs,
their garish light numbed by ***** glass
that cradles the bodies of last week’s flies.

Like an aged rattlesnake, the train creaks and hisses through the tunnel.
I’m attacked by a river of thick black hair
belonging to an olive-skinned woman who yaps into her cellphone:
‘no, no, quiero ver Times Square!’
I close my eyes and listen as her tongue rolls and dives
taking a bite of my bagel from Starbucks.

-Seventy Two Street’.
Although preoccupied with different thoughts,
the bodies on the carriage drift and sway with the motion of the train,
as it stops
and starts once more.

Two children in uniforms twirl around the carriage,
their laughter more electric
than the current that bristles below our feet.
A man
tickled by the dreadlock that sweeps over his face,
looks on with jeans so baggy
his legs melt into the seat.
The Jamaican flag blares from his t-shirt.

Next to him, a man bakes in a moth-eaten waistcoat
clutching a wallet with quivering fingers.
I follow his gaze to a picture of a woman
black and white with coffee stained edges.
His wrinkles deepen as he smiles at his
I notice glittery pools of the past forming in his eyes,
perhaps not.

my stop
-Seventy Nine Street’.
As I glance down at the platform’s monotonous shades of concrete,
and brush the dust from my grey tweed suit,
I think to myself
how colourful Upper-East Side is.
I shall never stop travelling on the 9am subway to Seventh Avenue.
Without it,
how boring my life would be.
Without it,
I wouldn’t be me.
Chabadtzke Jul 23
In the snow and the slush
I'm walking in a rush
Walking fast, coming last
And my toes are losing touch

Snow be upon me, and render me helpless

It's raining cats and mice
And the window don't entice
Water wet, mix with sweat
Under awnings and street lights

Rain be upon me, and render me helpless

Waiting for the train
There's one in the other lane
And I wait, always late
Wait an hour till it came

Traffic be upon me, and render me helpless

I get on and and there's a crowd
And the ruckus really loud
Hold my breath, choke to death
And my feet don't reach the ground

Claustropho-bia pon me, and render me helpless

And when I'm helpless, I can feel
What's a phony and whats real
Cause I got earphones in my ears
And I live beyond my cares
I immensely enjoy situations like waiting for the bus, in which I'm not expected to do anything. I can guiltlessly relax with the music I love.
Sky Yang Jul 22
everything hurts

the throbbing in my chest is from
the city i loved,
the city i swallowed

the pounding in my veins is from
the race against the very crowd
i spilled myself into

the numbness of my mind is from
the ticking clock and tapping heel
and murmuring and pulsating,

the living, breathing, and the dying
all tapping their watches in perfect
unison, like everything you've ever seen
and more


the taka taka tak of the train,
is jagged against my sides

i keel over at the altar as the
train approaches the station

and still,
thank ***!

everything hurts

i must still be alive
a whole mood
Jo Barber Jul 2
A women boarded the same subway stop as me today.
She wore a white, flowing shawl with tiny purple flowers on it
that stretched down to her knees.
She reminded me of my childhood and of my mother in her thirties.
She held a grocery bag with daffodils in it,
and I felt she was something rather special.

Perhaps we had been joined in each other's lives
for these fifteen minutes,
for some strange reason,
much unbeknownst to the two of us.
I tried to figure it out,
but ran out of time,
and as we emerged from the station,
she walked north,
and I went east.
Maybe I'll never know.
Maybe she was just a woman
with a white shawl and purple flowers.
Prose-ish poetry. Thoughts?
Irene J Jun 27
I met you across the subway,
we took a walk at the Central Park.
We went to a $1 pizza restaurant on our first date.
And spend the rest of our date at The Met.
We moved in together in an apartment in Tribeca.
And we go to work in Manhattan.

But one day on a sunset,
you took me to The Empire State building
and propose to me.
And we got married at the City Hall.
This was very random, well, in fact, I imagine this happening to me lol.
Shaxy Jun 19
Here comes the 'Rush Hour';
Commuters in a hurry
just to get a seat.
The daily situation I face every morning,
during my train rides
on my way to work.
Next page