#tube
if i could find the same kind of eyes that looked on her
i would never have to find again
the way she spoke with life
a crimson ring on her hand
the way he watched with adoration
an obsidian pendant round his neck
intertwined arms on the black bar
flushed faces from the heat of the carriage
stealing glances of the other just a breath away-
“This station is …”
ah, it’s time to get off.
Aug 22, 2023
Aug 22, 2023 at 1:54 PM UTC
Summer is loading full
just one bit more
London is On!
Busy bus only 20 miles
per hour
tube it
take the underground!
Meet down the various clouds
though the sun oft
picks on the gray paintbrush
the bumble bees fly on bright path
daffodils are yellow
eyes are black and white.
The colour plate is full
down the cloud
go by underground!
Aug 16, 2023
Aug 16, 2023 at 9:46 AM UTC
Open and Shut
Open and Shut
Shut
Binary yesterday
Re-set
Today
The network is pregnant again
Open and Shut
Open and Shut
Open
Oct 7, 2021
Oct 7, 2021 at 2:49 AM UTC
that feeling you get
when you’re on the tube and you’ve got
that song blasting in your cheap earphones
you stare out the window, not that there’s anything to look at
just a blurry wall
you think yourself to be some sort of
cinematic genius in these moments
you watch yourself in something of a movie
where you’re the director, the star, and the writer
it’s emotional and perfect
like a stupid ******* indie music video
for the song you love that nobody knows
Mar 4, 2020
Mar 4, 2020 at 1:55 PM UTC
She sits in the Doctor's office,
with one thing on her mind;
To rid herself of this Fetus,
so she can go on with her life.
~
Her dreams would all be ruined,
if this child were to be born;
She just can't let that happen,
thus she decides to Abort.
~
They call her back to a room,
she follows the Nurse's lead;
Gently she lays on the bed,
then sees the ******* machine.
~
Her mind is filled with doubt,
"Am I making a huge mistake;
The baby isn't even alive,
get a grip, for pity sakes."
~
Then the Doctor enters the room,
he is really quite polite;
Inside of her, he inserts a tube,
and she squeezes her eyes tight.
~
But deep within the occupied Womb,
the Fetus flinches away;
As the hose begins to tear apart,
how and what it may.
~
Then it grabs onto her tiny hand,
no longer a thumb to ****
The baby's eyes are filled with tears,
for the pain is just too much.
~
Little by little, it tears her apart,
no one can hear her screams;
But parts of her pass through the tube,
thanks to that horrid machine.
~
Her tiny head is the last to go,
donned in curly, black hair;
She's simply but a memory,
Mama's product of an affair.
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 10:23 PM UTC
This cosmic canister carries the world’s disarray-
Our destinations different, our feelings the same.
Though we have regular meetings we remain strangers;
Heads down, uncomfortable.
A pattern forms in our lives which none exits, our sacred routine which if changed is wrong.
Empathetic eyes glazed with weariness.
At each departure, a new inhalation of caffeine and smoke,
A new wave of bodies,
A new mass.
We all contribute to the mass, but the mass never goes,
Only waxes and wanes with the seasons.
We travel as one, carried by destinations, riddled with enigmas.
The hour reaches 6:00 and the mass bulges; the kettle is at its boiling point.
We move as agitated atoms riling against one another.
The world’s day draws to a close, as our microenvironment wakes.
A man exhales stale disappointment- no promotion due.
The coarse skin of his fingers caresses
The constant happiness in his life;
Helping him live, hastening his death.
Unable to inhale satisfaction, his suit clad leg
Writhes underneath the table,
Distracting him, but alerting others of the craving.
Although his tie is straight and his briefcase orderly,
A lose thread and weary eyes give him away-
He’s tired; tired of life, tired of the necessary endless routine
Which holds him and his livelihood captive.
It weakens and sustains him simultaneously.
His secrets define him.
A girl sighs, her cheeks wet,
Tears heavy with hurt.
A bruise has settled itself on her forearm;
A warning for the next time she comes home late.
Her skin has become a canvas and everyday more paint is added.
Her permanent ink hides the painful marks
Yet the latter seems to leave the most lasting impression.
Her face is scarcely discernible;
Metal studs line the place where her smile should be-
They are so many that her humanity becomes robotic.
Her secrets define her.
The tube we sit in holds heavy hearts, new smiles,
Old friends.
The mass becomes one as each day our routine returns,
Unchanged.
We get to know our fellow travellers
Without really getting to know them at all.
Their influence on our existence seems insignificant,
Yet they contribute to the steadfast mass that so grips our little lives,
Whilst we hold on to sanity by a single thread.
Our secrets define us.
Jan 24, 2019
Jan 24, 2019 at 1:26 PM UTC
They stand, the two of them, enveloped. Their bodies the segments of an orange before
ripped apart by delicate, hungry fingertips.
It is rush hour in Brixton and as she leans against this
unsteady machine, he holds her as if her limbs might fracture and fall
and land at their feet,
as if they might become neighbours to the newspapers and trodden gum that have
made their home there, ***** discarded, at ease.
Silhouette quietly nestled into his frame, sharing shadows
she, is elsewhere.
Gaze transfixed by a small being in front. A tiny entity that holds all of her undying
attention. Her lips bitten down to their core,
skin replaced by yearning and fear and a tenderness that you could touch.
The child’s tangerine lips waver hesitantly and then burst open, releasing a giggle
that sounds like fallen dust in sunlight, if it had a sound.
The space between them becomes a mirror, so much that the infant’s mother
looks like she has just learnt the definition of the word ‘envy’.
The tube falls into the station, and the passengers are squeezed out:
a frenzy of rushed beings in their most natural, narcissistic state.
From across the platform in rush hour, the train leaner is a mother.
And in her arms, oblivious, her lover.
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 10:41 AM UTC
The urban legend going round the mummy club
A woman
On a tube
Breastfeeding her baby, 5 months old, under her t shirt.
Not **** out
No feminist flags waving
No brazen cocky smile.
Just a hungry baby and a mother made by nature
And some milk
"Put em away Love", slurs an ugly man halfway down the carriage.
The other passengers are divided.
Some sink deeper into their headphones, under their broadsheets.
The others are ready for revolution, sit up straighter and plan an attack phrase or a protective move.
But this is what she's been waiting for since she so triumphantly became a successful, proud breastfeeder.
With a wet plucking noise she pulls her baby from the ****** where he was so contentedly feeding, where his warm little head was halfway to milky coma dreamland.
And she holds him aloft, her grip is confident and full. No one is afraid she will drop him, but he does not want to be there.
And in the stark light of the carriage, arms and legs chilly and free in the air he begins to flail them about. His voice throws out mews to every window of the carriage, turning into scratchy shouts as his protest gets stronger.
Until the baby, in a blue furry jumper, little bear ears for cute effect, is screaming.
Red faced, and with tonsils and tongue vibrating in the storm of his voice.
Arms and legs swimming frantically, looking for the bank of the river where warm mummy sits.
And over the storm, mummy looks over at the swaying, squinting man and shouts,
"WOULD YOU PREFER THIS?"
In one movement she cradles the yelling blue cub, shushing and quietly speaking to him as only a mother can, offering her ****** to his mouth until his round fuzzy head is bobbing and his mouth quietly busy resuming his meal.
"Or this? " She looks over at him.
The man mutters to himself and looks away. At the next stop he gets off the train, tripping down the step onto the platform.
The mother releases the challenge in one large breath.
She looks up at the two young men sat in front of her.
They are smiling, staring in awe. Choking and speechless one of them starts to applaud her.
Clapping her and shaking his head, his mate joins in.
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 6:01 PM UTC
This morning I was filled with an inconsolable hurt
And I noticed everything on my way to work…
The man in the grey coat reading his kindle
The blonde lady telling her friend about how she was newly single
I saw the small schoolboy leap on the train
I could tell he didn’t want to be late for school again
I became aware of the fed up look on the train drivers faces
They looked as though they were exhausted of coming to these places
I observed a handsome young man give the old lady a seat
Everyone smiled and thought, isn’t he sweet.
I grimaced when the barrier decided to trap the man in the suit
He cried and complained that he should have taken a different route.
I noticed everyone but nobody noticed me…
Because the pain I felt made me as still as can be…
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 1:36 PM UTC
Blue patterned seats
Between cold yellow poles
Strangers seated with eyes
That never catch their souls
Bodies pressed against bodies
Heat and oxygen shared
To remain in one’s solitude
Is the universal prayer
Fingers meet
Or feet step on feet
Apologies never catered
Words don’t ever speak
People with the most in common
Those standing, those seated
Every one of them human
Every one of them beating
This unity shared
Though never acknowledged
Has its own kind of beauty
Forever repeated
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 5:42 AM UTC
"Hear da children crying!
Give thanks and praise to the Lord..."
I don't feel alright.
Not tonight...
When the moon is
FULL & BRIGHT
ILLUMINATING i
WHATS
R
E
A
L
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 12:44 AM UTC
Sat on a train
and I gaze along
face after face
of strangers
that all share
this same moment
in time and space
and yet they're
all so vacant,
staring into space
and time bears
no relevance,
cause its the same thing
day in day out,
all of us sat there,
headphones intact
listening to our
own soundtracks
as we make our way
through tunnels
unaware of the tracks sound
as we're shuttled around
and I'm dumbfounded
by how wisdom
is found in the loss of interaction,
sat across a
man in a suit
clocking up percentages
and in a fraction,
I've took stock
and mocked up
a story for him
through his action ,
this one man
of many in this
age of distraction
Until this traction
created by volt-age
comes to a halt
as this train stops
at the station,
my station in sight,
this stationary moment
of insight interrupted
as doors open,
my form plateaus
as I step onto
the platform,
leaving this
train of thought
for another one,
adjourned as
I Journey on.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 4:13 PM UTC
You can literally manufacture it in a chemistry lab;
There are formulae and measurements of hormones that add up
To this supposedly tangible entity
A nicely brewed test tube
Of elaborately named chemicals
The very thing that makes you tremble in your skin,
That has caused wars and set ships assail
Confined to a liquid in a glass container
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 10:15 AM UTC
look at them
cattle being loaded in tricolor wagons
"Mind the closing doors"
the shepherd says
headless chickens trying to find a seat
bulls butting the walls
everyone is scared
they fear that the dog next to them
rips them inside out
so they just pretend it's fine
it's time to read the Evening Standard
let me show you my new iphone
I've been playing Candy Crush Saga
and I've become pretty good at it
you know?
The next station is Victoria
said Hall 9000
that's where I got off
and left the rest of my comrades
they are building a windmill in East London
and me?
I'm just a donkey
I don't really want to get involved
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 6:31 PM UTC
Today the train wasn’t packed
Although moving space, it lacked
Someone got their bag caught in the doors, fact
And a woman elbowed me without much tact.
Luckily the man on the platform always has a smile
Which makes me happy while I wait a while
So I’m not in a bad mood at the end of the mile
That I travel, then queue at the escalator in single file
It is a relief to reach the suddenly cool air
And the breeze calms me as it ripples through my hair
I am then in no need of a jacket as I settle in my chair
And I forget about the cost of my journey’s fare
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 5:10 AM UTC
My trail of thought left with the train in the distance
Do not disturb my blissful ignorance
Because it's a long way to jump from here
Adrenaline rushing through a tunnel of thoughts
As tangled as a tube map
I stand at the crossroads of my life
Mindlessly dodging traffic.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC
Hands clawing outward from a mass grave
Mouth gasping for air,
Lungs filled with invisible smog
Mind too indoctrinated to care
Pressed in against the walking dead
Face to face, toe to toe –
Clammy fingers entwining by seeing
Unseeing eyes staring into a blank void you well know
Drifting with the metal cage
Jerking back, coasting sideways, never flinch
Some escape, more cram in –
Nearing hellish Purgatory inch by inch
A screeching halt, your turn to flee –
Into the glass maze obediently file
Skinner's rats – jolted by punishment
Yet tomorrow you’ll do it again – another card on the pile.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 5:59 AM UTC
Just how does warm weather conjure
the inebriated
&
lovers,
on to
Londons’ Tube?
Are sweaty nights
an aphrodisiac tune,
to an alcoholic groove?
Wavering
tight stepped shuffles,
paired with
googly-eyed,
hand-clasped,
lip-locked,
snuggles.
Inward thought
toothpicking the corners of mouths,
as cheerful eyes spy
the Underground antics of the South.
That off the shoulder dress,
stranger clothes,
newer shoes;
a fashionista bazar,
A fleeting memory is
Winters’ white metaled fire.
Hapless in this weather
what else to do but smile?
Is it not so much easier than to revile?
Warm weather has a mission…
dismiss disgust.
Go on London smile.
It’s a must.
© Qwey.ku
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 3:57 AM UTC