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Where is the mass transit sending people to?
Dispatch of souls to places unknown
See the loading ramp down by the barracks
A place to herd them into vehicles
What type vehicles and for what use?
A bus to drive them to a spar resort
A truck to take them to the firing squad
A space shuttle to take them off world
A plane to ferry them to a new colony
All this and more to relocate humans
Orders given from up above carried out
Adding up the numbers of people shifted
Under command of the always ready soldiers
Commanded by a ruthless ******* officer
Look back into the past and compare
Just like the trains at the death camps
Remember what happened then
History repeats itself over and over
Mystic Ink Plus Oct 2019
On the day
Of graduation
A transit point
I was asked
To choose a future

Did you know?
It was
I always

You are enough
To align together
Genre: Romantic
Theme: Vows
Sketcher Jul 2019
I trust the bus to take me home,
I must adjust to how I roam,
From here to there,
With the slowest four wheels,
From stop to stop,
This doesn’t appeal,
To my sense of speed,
I have places to be,
Not only that,
But I have to ***.
Waiting on the bus...
Juhlhaus Apr 2019
Fingers on the rails can feel
The pulse of steel and diesel engines,
The muscle and sinew of a continent.
Ten thousand horses throb the air
And bear down on a mile of freight.
It rolls by like thunder
Under a clear blue sky, stirs the soul
With memories of lonely whistles
In the night, a desert wind, mystery lights;
When little fingers at the open window
First felt the pulse of steel and diesel,
A million iron miles ago.
For my father who loved trains from childhood and worked forty years on the railroad, traveling approximately five million miles by rail during his career.
uv Mar 2019
When the gloom weighs down heavy
Your presence becomes my story
Your love is my shinning glory
Everything else is transitory
When things dont go your way
And life is difficult, no way to sway
Those small blessings you forget
That mistake, you will forever regret.
Juhlhaus Jan 2019
I hurried out at six fifteen to wait
For a train with a waning moon,
Bright Venus and Jupiter hovering
Above the skyline. The amber horizon
Turned to orange and pink
As scattered stars went dim.

Misread the schedule and arrived
Downtown three quarters of an hour
Before my Electric District connection.
An accidental gift to self. I ascended
And ate two breakfast sandwiches
I got for one dollar with a coupon,
Warm in my hands on a blue picnic table.

The sky grew light
Above the Lake and I wandered
Through Millennium Park. It was empty
Or nearly, which felt the same.
The sun broke the bent horizon
In chrome and ice. I took some pictures,
Then descended to find Track Five.

The day's light revealed
Hollow houses with cartoon stone applied
Like paint, unable to compete
For preeminence with two-car garages.
The newest were bigger and offered
In different colors, but all the same.
Driving conditions were excellent.

At sunset I stood on another platform
Above a busy highway. The last rays came
Through tree branches and melted
Into the pale sky as they left my face.
I had witnessed that sun's birth,
It had warmed me while I waited for my carpool,
Rested with me on a concrete planter after lunch.

I entered the city in darkness
A second time. Changed muddy boots
For clean shoes and hurried to the museum.
It was a free night, overcrowded
With families and children, so difficult
To find a quiet corner for contemplation,
Any sanctuary for my own small soul.

I descended, discovered the typewriters, then
Realized you and I were already there, just
In different colors, using different words,
Spending school vacation to view old paintings
And the Holiday Miniature Rooms.
It dawned and the future was brighter even
As I left the city in darkness.
For a wonderful fellow poet who reminds me that there is no such thing as an ordinary day.
Juhlhaus Jan 2019
Seventy minutes or years
And the bus does not stop
We chose to get on
Knowing where we'd get off
Guided by our Hungarian brother

We ride past invisible fields
And through birch forests
I see their ghosts
In the headlights' glow
By day it could be Wisconsin
Or Indiana or Michigan

What a feast we enjoyed
The bounty of earth and its creatures
Gifts of love from family
We met only once before
Five households around the table
And two or three languages

Their people have well-hidden scars
Seeds of pain are buried deep
Underneath these invisible fields
Brother betrayed brother here
And many times before that
Since the first of us

Fairy lights dance on the horizon
And assemble to make a suburb
But the bus does not stop
By night it could be Wisconsin
Or Indiana or Michigan
And so it is

Seventy years or minutes
To process these thoughts
And in that time
Seeds of pain may grow
Into gifts of love
If we choose
Written as a stream of consciousness on an express bus traveling between the cities of Kecskemét and Budapest in Hungary.
Juhlhaus Jan 2019
The sweet kiss of the young sun
And a bitter embrace
Begin another day.
Do people still die in the cold?
Trains and warm cars keep it at bay.
Could one bewitched by this light
Receive its kisses
While losing his life?
The universe giveth and taketh away.
B Sonia K Jan 2019
Transiting through and true
My coming and going has now become my undoing
From one place to the next
Never giving a rest
The constant vibration of my body cells
The resultant energy drain
Hunger pangs like ringing bells
Now a friendly foe.

Time passing by
Dashing out of every corner and place
With tongue covered in dry dust
And arms filled with heat of the weather
To give me a lick and a hug
Oh, what a bother
Jumping from bike
To cars
To busses and train
To a destination unknown
Just a movement with time
With memories worth more than a dime
From one place to the next
Never giving a rest
Come hunger and sun
Come Weakness and rain
With the freezing cold of greying age
Indulging time with its uncaring gaze

I will persist
For all I know is
I am in transit.
Derrek Faraday Oct 2018
You managed being five feet above the ground”
Said a man who
Can’t contain a slight, sardonic sound
The situation:
He’s reading eating magazines from the coast of Spain
And yelling himself blue
For the jeepney won’t hurry in the pouring rain

He smashed his head on the glass
Wishing for a train
It nearly cracked / but his
New cadence sounded quite sane

You took five before you smoked the first one down”
Said a man who
Complimented me for sinking above the ground
“It’s estimation
I might trip before a wheel enters our lane”
I yelled the truth
At this moment, his presence started to stain

A boat that had already passed us
Yelled, “All aboard!”
We weren’t sure it would float
But it had a great deal of cords

Then we clambered on
There was a myriad of golden spades
Two for every buried fool
That was forced to stay
The stench was concealed
By the satisfied old man
A woman muttered
That she was headed to Queensland

A driver viciously flung his arms
Into the air, in apt alarm
The intersection’s volley
Aimed for the starboard
Everyone reached for the mast,
Hoping to soar

You nodded off before the lights started to blare”
Said a man who
Lied, ostentatiously impaired
I’m at the station
Then, I noticed to my side was a golden *****
I dug myself through
The mahogany and got on with my day
In the rain
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