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Tadiwa Oct 2020
I wait on a little island
Marooned in the sea of traffic
The grey sky broadcasts sweet outcomes
To the farmer in me
But the lack of an umbrella
Makes my mind jittery
I'm vulnerable in my suit, tie and all
If the sky should burst open its floodgates
Where will I find shelter, with my laptop and phone?
Hurry Mr. Driver
Spur on that staff bus!
Glenarah and Robert Mugabe roads intersection in Harare
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Free Fall to Liftoff
by Michael R. Burch

for my father, Paul Ray Burch, Jr.

I see the longing for departure gleam
in his still-keen eye,
                                   and I understand his desire
to test this last wind, like those late autumn leaves
with nothing left to cling to ...

Keywords/Tags: autumn, leaves, cling, clinging, wind, death, flight, fly, flying, transport, free fall, liftoff, departure, bare, barren, leafless, skeletal
I sit with intravenous headphones
             a dopamine drip          
my dress pants are torn at the inner knee
my hair smells of yeast
my face itches
my eyes wander

we screech to a halt
and it hisses like a feral cat
the platform then filled with bodies
that funnel in
bright as the undead

one seat from me
              he's balding        
and in the absense of hair, scabs
polka dotted,
He barks to a younger man about his dog
but the younger man just stares straight forward

In the disabled seating, sits
a woman
who is not pregnant
             or crippled        
             or elderly        
her toenails are a browny-yellow, and curled like the petals of an uprooted daffodil
her breath is audible, from the tenth row back
            even over the bald man        
            even over the chugging motor        

At the front
a boy sits with his older brother -
who points at pictures in a tattered laminate book
and grunts
and makes sounds
          yes, thats right, bus        
and groans
         it's okay, you'll see mum soon      
in discomfort,
snot seeping from his nose, spit
falling to the floor

Again, we screech to a halt
the alley cat hisses
only one at this platform

Her hair is neck length
her slip is long, silky and sky-blue
          as are her eyes        
fingers fiddle at the purse
         pursed lipped, she smiles      
... at the bus driver

Her boots sound the isle
they watch like its a runway
finding her way
Next to the boy
with the greasy hair
and the torn pants
and the sauce stained uniform
and the wandering eyes
and the inability to start a conversation

          and she sits      
          and they sit
Northern Poet Feb 2019
Up north
There's this thing called queuing
Down south
It looks more like ******* looting
I can see the trouble brewing
Squeezing on the tube – can't even get my ******* shoe in
Some of these miserable ******* look like they need shooting
Stuck on the northern line back to Tooting
Josh Feb 2019
she was there but somewhere else
eyes down
in love
with each note she sat, strumming
casting her into motion
transporting her
to each secret location
her heart chose to take her
OpenWorldView Nov 2018
Shoving, pushing, a high pitched row.
Nerves so tense, lids to blow.
What an insane nuthouse show.
Morning commutes are not healthy.
Anya Sep 2018
Proteins oh Proteins,
How much you do for us!

You are our support
The framework keeping us up
The bones under our skin

You are the mad scientist
encouraging chemical reactions within us
Enzymes, catalyzing reactions

You are our traffic regulators
Signaling how much,
Like insulin regulating glucose in the blood

You are the detectives within us
Figuring out what it bad
Then flagging it for destruction

You are our truck drivers
Shuttling materials to
and fro
Hemoglobin, carrying oxygen from the lungs

You are our storage
Our shelves packed to the brim with
Like ferritin storing iron in our bodies

There is so much you do
That is key to our survival
However shall I remember all you do
for my test tomorrow?
Anya Sep 2018
There's a mansion on a hill
I've seen it numerous times
I've never been inside

It's said to belong to an old woman
Who is very selective
in who enters her domain

Either you're an insignificant servant
And you slip inside
Through a back door

A tiny molecule diffusing
from high to low concentration

Or, you're a personal servant
Then, you gain special access
Still, through the back door

Water molecule
Diffusing through osmosis

After that are ordinary guests,
aided by the butler
through the front door

Facilitated diffusion
Molecules carried or channeled

And finally,
the VIP's  
Welcomed by a great procession
Through a special VIP door
invited by the madam
with great effort

Active transport
From low to high concentration
Requiring added energy

But despite this selectivity
of who can and cannot enter
That old mansion on the hill
And the jobs it provides
Is essential to the livelihood
Of the people in this town

Just like the cell membrane to our bodies
I tried another science analogy one. Personally I like my amino acid and fats ones better but I don't know. We'll see.
Daniel J Weller Jul 2018
Bus conversation
Brought rhythm to impeded
Speech like free-est jazz

Be-bop syllables
Legato then staccato
Neither with cadence

It sounded as if
Commas, were, splitting, each, word
Then, each, sy, lla, ble.
Bus journey through Lambeth, London, July 2018
Miira Jun 2018
The Vessel
Something that allows me to release my past
And have the capacity for my uncertain future

The Vessel
Something that can transport me fast
While having my safety ensured

The Vessel
Something that drove past
All the obstacles that have been giving me pressure

The Vessel
Like a steady vehicle that has a vast
Space that can fit in my past, present and future
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