#passengers
The sixty degree angle of her soft-leather clad ankle drew my eye. It was relaxed and maintained an elegance that appeared effortless and it was this angle and the over and under of her other leg, with the unwavering support of her angled ankle, that stayed with me, and deposited an unreasonable burden of jealousy and arguably an exaggerated degree of admiration.
Then, with a whisper, she handed her coffee to her companion and unfurled her legs as she withdrew her makeup bag to make herself more human, ridding me of my revelry.
Mar 17
Mar 17, 2026 at 2:43 AM UTC
Passengers on the train, with dullness in their eyes,
sit in front of me like a reflection.
They stare at me, unable to look away.
The train rolls on, its sound stretching seconds into hours.
They continue to gaze at me and then at the window,
staring so blankly that I can hear their breaths.
From time to time, some stand up,
step outside, and free me from their presence.
I beg fate, "Please, don't let them come back!"
But they return, sit down,
and resume their gaze.
Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 1:52 PM UTC
We’re getting on this streetcar
without our permission.
Deciding every single day,
not to get out, just to survive,
until the next stop, the next breath.
Let’s pretend to be naive,
when the absurdity of norms
pushes us to follow the one-way track.
Please, look around,
see through rose-colored glasses,
how beautiful it could be!
Everything would seem easier
and more tolerable.
In this magical place,
we once called wishful thinking,
all the stars spark at night,
the rainbow shines all day!
Why must we be so practical,
when stray pieces intertwine,
forming a cohesive and unique whole?
Passing silently, unnoticed,
in the city of unseen lines,
in the depth of our hearts,
we dream that this tale
could end happily.
We, all Passengers,
craving more space
spreading our wings,
we are trapped in small cages.
In the streetcar called
Bare Existence
until the last trip,
until the last call,
we wish only
to be unconditionally accepted.
Apr 10, 2025
Apr 10, 2025 at 12:15 PM UTC
out of the blue
my hands turn into themselves
and so does the dust of leaves feeding
the soil of a mysterious skin
we are passengers through blissful omens
cruel visions of a ravished anti-time
so treat me like fire
Nov 2, 2023
Nov 2, 2023 at 5:40 PM UTC
Inside cockpit command control, a proud young captain sits fiddling with his tie. Out on the runway, a parade of boisterous holiday makers stream through a wall of steamy-sticky heat.
A scraping of cases amid jubilant faces, as they flock to their seats in frantic fashion. Offering warm greetings, the sun spreads its orange glow; kissing the face of many a passenger.
Raucous voices become feeble mutterings, drowned by roaring engines. Knuckles white as chalk from clenched fists: an anxiety that is to be short-lived.
We ascend to the clouds, above motorways and mountains; entering an endless wash of blue. Smiles chucked around like confetti bringing a sense of: new opportunity, hope and adventure. As we rise above.
Jul 10, 2021
Jul 10, 2021 at 1:29 PM UTC
Mending
by Michael R. Burch
I am besieged with kindnesses;
sometimes I laugh,
delighted for a moment,
then resume
the more seemly occupation of my craft.
I do not taste the candies;
the perfume
of roses is uplifted
in a draft
that vanishes into the ceiling’s fans
that spin like old propellers
till the room
is full of ghostly bits of yarn ...
My task
is not to knit,
but not to end too soon.
This is a poem for the survivors of 9–11 whose families lost loved ones in the terrorist attacks. Keywords: 911, survivors, victims, first, responders, passengers, firemen, police, heroes, terrorist, attacks, World Trade Center, Flight 93, Pentagon, White House
Mar 25, 2020
Mar 25, 2020 at 9:51 PM UTC
I open my mouth
wrestling the words off my tongue
like they are passengers
that refuse to walk their plank.
and when I finally think I’ve pushed
them
off
into the storming sea should they go—
dissolved by the darkness of the waves
and the crescendo of the foam.
but nothing dares stumble out in the land between my lips,
instead the passengers find themselves
to the vacuum of hopelessness
that awaits it.
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 12:05 AM UTC
When I had two arms, I had ***
When I had money, I had friends.
When I had two arms, I got invited out.
When I gave a performance, I had fans.
When I had two arms, I had careers.
When I had drugs, I had power.
When I had two arms, I could use a computer.
When I had something to steal, I had company.
When I had two arms, I got flirted with.
When I give free rides, I have passengers.
When I had two arms, men and women wanted to date me.
When I had fancy things, I was impressive.
When I had two arms, I had friends.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 1:37 AM UTC
I want to board the train to nowhere
Two parallel track never to meet
Through verdant landscapes
And long dark tunnels through mountains
Through the morning dew
And torrential rains
Between deep woods and loneliness
Let the train travel till eternity
Filled with passengers who does not know time
Winding through the trails of nowhere
This train journey will be on tracks for eternity
Crossing breathtaking bridges
Looking at the dangerous abyss makes us dizzy
Train continues with the journey
Sitting by the window, landscapes scrape by
This train to nowhere, is the ultimate journey
We are all passengers traversing various lands
Two parallel track never to meet
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 7:55 AM UTC
London train departing from platform nine
We are pleased to say that it’s right on time
Passengers scramble on with their luggage
Looking for empty seats in the carriage
I sit at the window, gaze at the sea
Trolley comes down with sandwiches and tea
Conductor appears looking for tickets
Lots of hands searching in bags and pockets
Girl in the corner, engrossed in her book
Man in the suit gives his files a last look
Plenty of people perusing their phones
Lovely old lady sits quiet and alone
Everyone stares at the guy with tattoos
His barely dressed girlfriend with high-heeled shoes
Young guy with the headphones, chewing his gum
Little kids clinging on tight to their mum
Meaningless small talk, chatting with friends
Train’s getting slower, journey will end
Finally here at my destination
New adventure begins at the station
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 5:31 AM UTC
Well after the conductor yelled,
“All aboard,” and well after all
of the tickets were punched;
a group of people,
who didn’t know one another
were all headed north.
Little hands turned through pages
while larger ones were cupping
at the window, trying to get
a better view of the night sky.
A farmers pasture flashed by,
but went unnoticed in the dark.
A few seats down slouched a frail
grey haired lady, with her hands
clasped around a small bouquet
of daises. And across the aisle,
towered a man who’s hands
could hold a dozen eggs.
Alone in the corner was a red
dressed woman; doing her best
to not spill her coffee. She watched
the children next to her fall
into an innocent sleep.
And ripples echoed in her fingers.
She thought about how strange it is
that everyone on a train
can be going the same direction
but have different destinations.
And then she thought about
how tired the conductor had looked.
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 12:12 AM UTC
After Henry Taylor
On a peaceful night just as the stars had
risen and the chilled dew was beginning
to form on the grass, a set of steel tracks
resting atop an ordinary hill
began to hum with warm vibrations as
a steam-powered engine came towards them,
pulling along an assortment of goods,
it came fast and came loud, breaking all of
the solitude by the hill, but perhaps
it was going too fast or maybe the
tracks were a little wet or it may be
that the train simply wanted to jump, but
just as it reached the turn atop the hill,
it leaned off its path and like a rubber
band; the rest followed, throwing to the air
everything held inside, tumbling down
the hill, splashing through the water droplets
until finally coming to a rest
at the bottom, where splintered lumber and
distorted steel had torn up earth to show
a mound of fresh dirt, riddled with gravel
and twigs, the hill became quiet once more,
just as the train whispered its final gasp
and the dew began to form on its wheels.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC
Hoping, dreaming,
Wishing, praying,
Fasting, petitioning,
Crying, weeping.
A hundred days,
Bygone.
Hoping we could once more see your face,
As impossible as it sounds,
Dreaming, that someone, somewhere, some place,
Finally finds you, and that you're at last home bound.
A hundred days,
Of excruciating pain.
Wishing against the logic of the world,
That you're still fine, and you'll fall into my arms once again,
Praying to God, gods, goddesses, deities of the world,
That even if you're not lost forever, you're still okay, not in pain.
A hundred days,
Of sleeplessness.
Fasting, maybe not because we believe it'll help,
But food does not replenish anymore,
Petitioning to the saints above,
To ask the angels to hold you, forevermore.
A hundred days,
Of yearning.
Crying for that solace only closure brings,
That somehow its not a conspiracy and that the truth is revealed.
Weeping for every single person, every heartbroken family,
Who's dreams and aspirations lay now buried, concealed.
A hundred days,
Of timeless sadness.
They say time heals,
The say it will get better,
But nothing can better what we feel,
Not even time.
A hundred days,
Without conclusion.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 8:18 AM UTC