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Riding backwards on a train
Leaning my head into the window
Seeing my own reflection – Clackity
Clack – Clickity Clackity Clickety Clack,
Don’t talk back, Clackity Clack.

What I see in the passing frames
Bridges, houses, brown fields
And rough terrains.
Clackity Clack, Clickity Clack
Don’t talk back, Clackity Clickety Clack.

There goes an old barn beside an Azores tree
There goes an Azores tree beside an old barn
My God there goes another one – that’s three
Clackity Clack, Clackity Clack, Clickity, Clickity
Don’t talk back, Clickity Clack.

Telephone poles all passing as one
Streets and warehouses, street signs
And red lights – green and now a nun
Clackity Clack, Clackity Clack
Don’t talk back, Clackity Clickity Clack.

Into the tunnel we clamber and scramble
Concrete walls all painted with daises
So close to the glass we go into this gamble.
Clackity Clack, Clickity Clack, Clackety Clickety
Are we coming back, Clackity Clack.

Deep under the bay we travel
As loud and deep as the devil.
All held back by nothing but gravel.
Clackity Clack, Clickity Clack
Please don’t crack, Clackity Clack

When all at once into the terminal we fly
We made it – me – myself and I
Slowing to almost a crawl - good-bye!
Clackity, Clackity, Clackity Clack
Next time I’ll check my Zodiac.
Me trying to describe riding on the San Franciso Bay Area Rapid Transit system. Better known as BART.
If you care to listen to my musical interpretation of this train ride you can listen to it on YouTube available at the following URL; You will need to copy and paste the URL into your browser and once it loads click on the arrow in the bottom left of The YouTube player to start up the music.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Js4JzBmPY0c
SP Blackwell Mar 2013
I am sitting on a broken branch

under the drug addled canopy of insecurities and lies.

I am feeling the steady sway of an oxycontin daze.

Walking slowly through a ketamine daydream that pulls at my core

like a phantom puppet master controlling my limbs.

It crashes into my brain like the breaking waves on the shore.

Breathing in nicotine filtered filth as I wait to catch a breath of fresh air.

Lungs filled with recycled tar that prevents me from gasping.

In darkened corners where lies sleep and rumors are hidden,

I wait.

I dance on a tightrope between conscious and subconscious

that is held by reality and dreams.

Dark sunglasses on to avoid

the blinding stinging light of what is real.

Mirrored glasses are reflecting the reflections back at intruders.

Deflecting glances, shifty eyes, and dilated pupils

searching for a focus point of truth  

in a neon technicoloured blur of hypocrisy.

The background blaring horns blended with a steady bass line

mimics my heartbeat.

Thump thump. Thump thump.

The fading noises pass quickly,

highlighted with insults and curses of hate and gossip

that are forgotten before you can make them out.

Spun truths turned into lies

intermixed with resin

left from yesterday.

The litter paved streets break under my heels.

Click clack. Click clack.

Broken and cracked

like the false promises

And hopes

And dreams

of those who have walked here before.

The monotonous pace is repeated

only pausing to notice the gum under the stiletto

that fails to hold her in place

as she runs towards the wet cement that has replaced

another sheet of cracked concrete.

The wet cement that has covered another lie

in order to show the simplicity of fake appearances.

A reminder of how easy it is to replace and mask

the hate filled holes that get trampled on.

The flicker of hope is suddenly unseen

like the street light lined alley that is now dark.

The stench of garbage, decay, and rotting flesh

is mixed with expensive perfume, sweat, make-up, and spilled *****.

Garbage cans are filled with the leftovers of last night.

A *** stained dress with no owner draws no attention

as the sound of snapping latex is muffled

by the screams of ecstasy that rapidly fade

like the fleeting feeling of MDMA.

Thick white ****** fluid oozes out like human glue

in an attempt to mend the lack of connection.

Strangers intertwined in hasty conversations

waiting for human contact to forget

that they are in dark alleys.

To forget

that they live in dark places

where no one lays down wet cement.

The distorted reality of alleys deceive passer bys

into thinking that they are not menacing

has been weaved like a web by street sweepers and garbage men.

The pressing sense of the need to avoid the sweepers

is unsaid but felt.

They falsely clean what will always be *****.

The *** filled backstreets yearn for love

like the treacherous woman guarding its corner.

Daddy issue lined dresses are asking to be undone

just like her lost innocence that can never be mended.

The issues and clothing that can never be fixed

abandoned on top of garbage cans for someone else to pick up.

Patches of dead grass are left

untended, unwatered, and unwanted

waiting to be replaced by wet cement.

Wet cement that soon enough will crack and break

under the heavy heated pressure of the stomping heels

of lost Girls in a desolate city.

Blood trickled trails are left behind

that have dried into the cigarette lined streets that lead nowhere.

The injured egos of men are left to linger at back doors

that will never be opened.

******* induced insanity whirls around a flurry

of whispers and paranoia wanting to here the Truth

between the spewed anger and rage of the low toned hushed voices

that wish not to be heard.

Whiskey hinted murmurs pressing on the sidewalk cracks

knowing that they will never be heard.

Looking into the dark where

Truth will never be seen.

The constant beat of narcotic users searching

for salvation in pre-packed bags of white powder,

digging for redemption in empty bottles of multi-colored pills.

Screaming through the silence,

They are not heard.

The desperation can be heard through the whining moans

of the junkies that are tethered to addiction.

The over whelming sound of

Want and Need and Lust

move through the streets like the overflowing gutter water.

Heartbeats are replaced with the impatient pacing of

her stilettos waiting for her pain to cease.

Stilettos stomping on broken dreams

waiting to cross broken streets.

She gazes at the other side as if it is different.

Stilettos tapping on the street

waiting for the firm grasp of a sweaty hand to distract her from reality.

Waiting to be touched

And grabbed

And ******

                                              In hopes that love will arise from ****** ****** encounter with

strange men in uncomfortable places.

Clothes are feverishly removed with the promise of

flesh on flesh enveloped in a hazy cloud of body heat

that warns off the internal coldness.

Heavy breath and touch and kiss release chemicals

to replace the drug depleted emptiness.

The rhythmic sound of rubbing flesh mingles with

the moaning of the streets.

It fuses with the short lived pleasure laden moans of

lonely people and un-climatic *******.

Awkward silences are brief as the sound of her heels owns the street.

Click clack. Click clack.

The sound of stilettos on cement hurriedly walking away when there is

no longer a need for his body heat.

That unmistakable click clack click clack

on uneven, *****, dangerous streets.

Red lipstick smeared stains are the only trace of her that is.

That is the only trace of me that is left.

Click clack steady on the street.

Steady like mimicking bass line

Click clack heartbeat.

The crunch of broken glass under the stiletto

echoes her broken dreams.

Click clack.

Head held high never looking at the ground as she walks forward.

Click clack. Click clack.

Click clack.

The urban mud of

Wet cement goes

Squish!

under her stiletto.



V.Mata
Paul Gilhooley May 2016
Clickety click, Clickety clack,
The train it rolls along the track.
The kids all get restless the parents all natter,
But at least they aren’t crying, so that doesn’t matter.

Clickety clack, Clickety click,
A child hollers out “mum I feel sick!”
“What did I tell you about eating those sweets?”
“Don’t make a mess all over these seats!”

Clickety click, Clickety clack,
The guard sitting bored, in his cab at the back.
We thunder through towns and all of its people,
Passing by churches, and that old pointed steeple.

Clickety clack, Clickety click,
A drinks cart on the train? Ah just the trick,
A nice cup of coffee and a cold can of beer,
“How much?  You’re kidding!”  I won’t get much change here!

Clickety click, Clickety clunk,
Oops, sounds like that rail's missing a chunk.
We cross over bridges, spanning their rivers,
I must close that window, it’s giving me shivers.

Clickety click, Clickety clack,
I’m getting hungry; I could use a good snack.
Back comes the hostess with her goods laden trolley,
No chance I’m parting with even more lolly.

Clickety clack, Clickety click,
So many destinations, which one should I pick?
Should I stay local, or should I go far?
It’s certainly more peaceful than driving a car.

Clickety click, Clickety clack,
It feels like we’re speeding along a fair whack.
The seconds to minutes, the minutes to hours,
From towns and their houses, to fields and their flowers.

Clickety clack, Clickety click,
Wherever I’m going, I’m getting there quick.
Bright eyed young faces, an adventure, exciting,
The doddery old folk, complain when alighting

Clickety click, Clickety clack,
We pass many crossings and a ***** old shack.
How many golf courses and quaint country pubs?
And weekend gardeners out pruning their shrubs.

Clickety clack, Clickety click,
These seats so uncomfy, now my neck's got a crick!
Now finally I've reached my long journey’s end,
And I'm glad that I've shared it with you my dear friend.

© Cinco Espiritus Creation
2012
Clickety-clack
Clickety-clack
Here on the railroad track

Shadows dance around me
Unknown if they are real
Cool fingers touch me
Up my spine sending chills

But I hear nothing except the
Clickety-clack, Clickety-clack
As I walk down
The railroad track

Under a ladder
I have walked
A black cat in front of me did dart
the mirror I was holding
Fell and shattered
Now perches an owl in my path
Beak opening to speak
All I hear is *Clickety-clack


Clickety-clack
Clickety-clack

As I stand now
Upon the railroad track

Bright light in my view
I know what it's of
Horn blares into the night
It's sound envelopes me like a glove

But I am deaf to it
For all I hear is
Clickety-clack
Clickety-clack

As I lay down
On the railroad track

Silence is best
Laying here to rest
The last sound I hear
Clickety-clack, Clickety-clack
                    *my heart, give it back...
R Dickson May 2016
Clickety clack clickety clack,
Suitcase wheels over the cracks,
Business men and business ladies,
Men and women some with babies,

The noise they make with heavy pacing,
Sends my heart heavily racing,
Pneumatic tyres would be better,
I'll need to send the makers a letter,

Small cases with high pitch sound,
Ladies with fast walking grace,
Heavy gait of business men,
Large cases with a steady bass,

Trip trap across the road,
Off the pavement to the gutter,
Checking left and right for traffic,
Straight across without a stutter,

Clickety clickety clickety clack,
Two abreast and walking past,
Clickety clickety clickety clack,
Like a train approaching fast.
Katlyn Orthman Feb 2015
Click Clack
Click Clack
My throat is burning
My skin is dry; barely clinging to my bones
My eyes are glued shut by exhaustion
But I know I should open them
Click Clack
The rough surface of the floor beneath me
Scrapes my fragile skin
Help me
Click Clack
With the rest of the strength I harbor inside me
I open my eyes
Click Clack
A dim light looming above me, flickers as it swings side to side
The only source of light
The only source of hope
Click Clack
Time eludes me
There are no windows in my prison
Click Clack
No, there is only Time and Pain
My two closest friends
Click Clack
Exhaustion sweeps over my protesting body once again
And my eyes drape in defeat
My muscles sag their heads in despair
And my bones creak as they settle back into place
Click Clack
My mind flickers into a dream
Where I live vicariously through my inner self
Click Clack*
It's safer this way.
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
How many poetry books = 1 Nissan Pathfinder exhaust
      system.
How many bluebirds? Money is how we thank people for
      what makes them special
How we express our love and gratitude.

Weight and moods, up and down, with weather and outcome
      of meetings.
I am so sick of humanity, people. Wouldn't I prefer
      chickadees?
Then I get home, that is the comfortable tree hole I've been
      longing for.

Aaron pitches and plays piano. Zach likes lacrosse and math.
The mound was soft, sand, with a hole big enough for an urn
      or to hide a plover
But Aaron pitched carefully anyway, slow strikes and the
      opposing team scored.

What would God's work be? Meaningless question. Today's
      schedule:
Write fund raising letters, conserve small farms. Local food,
      local jobs. Don't transport food coast to coast. Save fuel,
      less CO2.
In my opinion the dislocations resulting from climate change
      and global warming will be within man's adaptive capacity.
      On the other hand.
Also, green industry will open a vast employment market, a
      job for every grackle, crow.

The good life, unsustainable, we're poisoning our children
      although my children are not so poisoned. They're bald.
      Unusually bald. Good looking bald. Future of man bald.
      Happy bald.
Bald eagle. Nesting, mating near Karen Sheldon's, a
      conservationist, philanthropist, on the river, whose
      husband recently died. During romantic dinner on a
      second honeymoon in Paris, so I've heard.
That's Jake's spirit come home as an eagle, Karen said. Isn't
      that great, I said, and the she-eagle he's nesting with!
--I'm gonna **** that *****.

Compare Captain Carpenter and In a Prominent Bar in
      Secaucus One Day. In each case the hero's (heroine's)
      body declining
Under life's duress. Anything located in Secaucus, NJ could
      not be considered prominent, could it?
In the end, clack clack takes all. Hard to end a poem better
      than that. Clack clack the crow's beak, upper and lower
      mandibles meeting. From hunger, or it just does. Crows
      clack clack to communicate.
Whitman's greatest poem is Out of the Cradle . . . also
      involving communicating birds, in what is initially an
      embarrassingly emotional display. All that italicized
      moaning and yearning. Get away.
Then, clack clack, he turns on you. Death lisping, straight into
      your eyes. Suddenly you realize you should have taken
      him seriously, been paying attention.

In the meantime, traffic, corn, new exhaust system, ask for
      money, save farms, poor people, sun on garden, whole
      wide world, wars, stars.
I gave up long ago on a quiet world. Now going deaf. Then it
      will be quiet, too quiet.
No more birding by ear. "No more *******." I mean really . . .
      I was moved as anyone by Hall's honest poem about Jane
      dying and I guess ******* can be music to someone's
      melody, stand for living, but not me.
No more birding would have had more meaning. I'd rather
      bird than ****. No more *******, no more worry, no more
      war.

Which is why I'm gonna **** that ***** is so funny, such a
      life-affirming comeback.
At first I worried Karen really believed the eagle is her
      husband. Maybe she does,
But that punch line makes her the kind of woman I want to
      know.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
Rebecca Kane Jun 2012
It’s funny how when I see these guys I know who are really tall and skinny, their bodies are such that whenever they move,
    I expect to hear some sort of clack-clack noise of their joints and arms and legs
    as if they were marionette puppets being dangled by some unseen force and they go clack-clack in and out of rooms and doorways
    But they don’t go clack-clack
    Now that I’ve figured out what noise they should be making,
    I have to spend my **** time trying to figure out what noise they ARE making.
    But I’m not really close enough to hear.
Jayne E Apr 2020
I'm not a game to be played
when feeling bold
then quickly dropped into cold
once your nerve wavers thin
affection shifting to chagrin
looks like I am tricked again
as inauthentic you crept in.

clickety clack clickety clack
does this train on the track
I did not leap under its wheels
I pushed them down the sickly feels.

you are not some toying thing
to be cajoled to dance and sing
as my will does ebb and flow
this is it, there you go, there you go
you hot you cold you shy you bold.

clickety clack clickety clack
does this train on the track
I did not leap under its wheels
I pushed them down the sickly feels.

we are not we and never where
distant boy and gold hair girl
so I do you and you do me
across the sea to shining sea
if we could I think we would
it's written now so should be good
the feels were felt deep under hood.

clickety clack clickety clack
does this train on the track
I did not leap under its wheels
I pushed them down the sickly feels.

there still will be the filling up
your nectar unto my loving cup
I pulled you in you pushed away
the push and pull is how we play
a pretty glisten on the morn
did offer stickily sweet to adorn
fingers tips and lips did drip.

clickety clack clickety clack
does this train on the track
I did not leap under its wheels
I pushed them down the sickly feels

we switch it up we switch it down
in penners pens a friendship found
and so unbidden feels abound
I'm laid bare across your knee
my breath held pulse running round
I know you know I want it now 'la fessee'
this newly new thing sees me free

clickety clack clickety clack
does this train on the track
I did not leap under its wheels
I pushed them down the sickly feels

© J.C.
This is a slightly tweaked rewrite of an older poem...brought back to mind after listening to train sounds during lockdown...go figure lolz.. (originally written on a train ride)
Jayne E Apr 2019
I'm not a game to be played
when feeling bold
then quickly dropped into cold
once your nerve wavers thin
affection shifting to chagrin
looks like I am tricked again
as inauthentic you crept in.

clickety clack clickety clack
does this train on the track
I did not leap under its wheels
I pushed them down the sickly feels.

you are not some toying thing
to be cajoled to dance and sing
as my will does ebb and flow
this is it, there you go, there you go
you hot you cold you shy you bold.

clickety clack clickety clack
does this train on the track
I did not leap under its wheels
I pushed them down the sickly feels.

we are not we and never where
distant boy and gold hair girl
so I do you and you do me
across the sea to shining sea
if we could I think we would
it's written now so should be good
the feels were felt deep under hood.

clickety clack clickety clack
does this train on the track
I did not leap under its wheels
I pushed them down the sickly feels.

there still will be the filling up
your nectar unto my loving cup
I pulled you in you pushed away
the push and pull is how we play
a pretty glisten on the morn
did offer stickily sweet to adorn
fingers tips and lips did drip.

clickety clack clickety clack
does this train on the track
I did not leap under its wheels
I pushed them down the sickly feels

we switch it up we switch it down
in penners pens a friendship found
and so unbidden feels abound
I'm laid bare across your knee
my breath held pulse running round
I know you know I want it now 'la fessee'
this newly new thing sees me free

clickety clack clickety clack
does this train on the track
I did not leap under its wheels
I pushed them down the sickly feels

J.C. 08/03/2019
Louise Leger Mar 2014
Pens, tap.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.



Heals, clack,

Click, clack, click, clack

Click, clack, tap.



Clocks tick

Tock-tick, tock-tick

Click-tock, tick-clack, tap

Tap, clack, tick-tock, click



Keys tack

Ticka-tacka, ticka-ticka, tack

Ticka-tacka clack, tick, tap, ticka-ticka, tack, tock, ticka-click tick

Tick, tock, tick, tock, ticka-tacka, clicka-clacka tick, tock, tap-tap-tap-tap, ticka-tacka-clicka-clacka-ticka-tocka tap—

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap….
I'm on a train.

One of those red ones with black trimmed windows you can imagine rolling through the suburbs on the way to NYC. Not a subway car but a classier vintage with proper rows of cushioned seats and a lever to pull if there is an emergency. There are sparse shrubberies on one side of the tracks and the ocean on the other. Young trees and bushes stroll by.  A little wind is pushing off the ocean, massaging the car ever so gently back and forth as we move along. A gentle click-clack is on the tips of our ears.

We got on together. I hadn't known you for very long but the connection was stronger than anything I had ever felt or have since. You practically sat on top of me for the first few miles. Couldn't keep your hands off me,  staring in my eyes like you were searching for something lost but you couldn't remember what. The edges of your lips turned upwards permanently as if you were always at the verge of a laugh. You interlaced my fingers with yours and held on like you would be ripped away if your grip loosened for even a second. Slender fingers holding so tightly that they were becoming red.

You were excited to to be riding with me, about where we were going and all the things we would do when we got there. I would see you peer out of the corner of your eye, then lean over to brush your soft cheek against my budding stubble. Kissing and gently biting my lips insatiably. The suns rays coming in at an angle and lighting up your perfect smile and dimple.

I had to remind you we were in public.

I was lost in your blonde curls and the incense of your neck. I had fallen incredibly hard and so fast that my face hurt from smiling and my heart beat with vibrations I had never known. Not even a whiff of anxiety or neurosis. Some of the best memories of my life, as fleeting as they turned out to be.

I yawned and you put your finger in my mouth. I bent over to tie my shoe and you would poke my **** and laugh with your own reflection in the window, like this was the first and best joke of all time. Maybe it was and maybe it is.

The waiter came and informed us that a thing called "the bar car" existed. We both jumped at the idea. I didn't exactly notice at the time, during our excitement, but that's when the train started going faster and everything out the windows began to blur.

The bar car was a wild ride and we took advantage of our lo'cal. All kinds of fine wine, liquors and illicit substances were available. We tried them all. You were beautiful, your laugh infecting everyone around you, I was charming and held a captive audience.   It was a dark, loud and glorious blur. We were the life of the party and it chugged on till dawn.

We woke up in our seats, disheveled and discombobulated. It was dark out already. Did we sleep through the entire day? The train was slowing down, maybe approaching a station. The party was amazing but we were certainly paying the price for the black out. You moved over to the seat across from me to have some more space and lay down. I saw myself in the reflection. My hat, charm and smile from the night before had vanished. I must have left them in the bar car the night before.
      You had changed, beauty uninterrupted but different somehow. I couldn't put my finger on it. Irritated maybe? I invited you to cuddle and battle the hangover together but you ignored me. Like you couldn't hear me or didn't want to. I decided to let you be.

I got up to use the bathroom and thought I would go look for my scattered belongings. Maybe I could find a scrap of leftover dignity while you rested. I inquired to the conductor who directed me to the bartender in the bar car. He hadn't changed a bit, somehow untouched and unaffected by last nights antics that had effected me so dramatically.  Same black suspenders and white pressed shirt with impeccably slicked hair. I asked him what happened and if I had an open tab. While slowly polishing a rocks glass he looked up and made eye contact for a split second before looking away.
He said:  "Oh the bar car takes its toll. In the end we all end up paying one way or another". I still don't know what he meant by that or if he knew.
      I asked him if he found my hat and he said he would check the camera. We walked in to a small back room, while he was reviewing the tape, over his shoulder I noticed a tragedy.

We were drunk. I was going on to a group of new friends on one side of the bar, they were hanging on my words and I was eagerly explaining whatever nonsense they were drooling over. You were in the corner wearing that red dress I love, with your hair up in a tight bun. A few curls had escaped and brushed your high cheekbones, a thin line of pearls dancing delicately across your perfectly symmetrical collar. You were stunning and inebriated, swaying with each bump and motion of the train. A man wearing my hat put his hand on your side to keep you from swaying over and then he left it there.
I took a sharp breath.

It looked like you put your hand on his hand to move it but then it stayed and you both swayed together. As the air left my lungs and the blood drained out of my face I watched your lips touch the strangers. A small piece of my soul slipped away forever. I couldn't watch any further. When I asked the bartender how long it went on he fidgeted for a moment and uncomfortably muttered "quite some time". I never found my hat or the other part of me that left that day.  

The train slowed. I walked to the back, as far away from you as I could get, in utter disbelief. How could you? I thought to myself.
I mourned the loss of the you as I knew you yesterday, quietly and to myself. A tear  escaped my eye and rolled down my now fully formed stubble as I fell in to a random seat in mild shock. There were a few passengers back there so I had to pull together relatively quickly. After gaining some composure I knew it was time to get off. I knew we could never get back to yesterday morning though I would have said or done anything to do so.

The train had stopped. I went back to my seat and you were sleeping. I took my coat and gathered my things. The conductor looked at me confused as to why I would leave something so magnificent, I assume he had no idea what had transpired.   

I walked to the rear of the car and slid the door open slower than required. I stepped to the stairs and put one foot down on the step and the other on the ground. I stopped, rooted with my hand on the railing, lingering between two very different paths.
     I knew that it was time to get off, I knew this was the sensible thing to do, that I couldn't get past this offense regardless of how I had felt earlier the day before. The whistle screamed from the locomotive. The conductor looked at me and shook his head, I'm not sure if he was trying to tell me to stay or go but a decision had to be made.

The train lurched forward and I watched as the station slip away slowly. I sat in between the cars for a while and watched the ocean and birds. With a heavy heart and shoes I walked back to my seat. You were waiting. Crying. You knew. The bartender had told you. You didn't mean do do it, didn't realize what you were doing and thought it was me. He was wearing my hat and the whole world was blurry and dark.

I believed you. Self anguish mixed with alcohol was dripping from your pores. I knew you didn't mean it and were drunk, but could I ever forgive you or trust you again?

I loved you still.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection, a weaker version of myself looked back. As if an invisible chip in my teeth had developed and my shoulders lowered. The charming, confident man from the bar car the day before had been replaced. Something was off but not enough for anyone else to notice, just enough to know a change has happened.
       The train started to pick up speed again as we distanced ourselves from the station.  I second guessed my decision to stay but I didn't look back.

I found the man with my hat and punished him with a few blows in the dark. He knew he ****** up, apologized and took the beating like a man. I never got the hat back.

The engineer announced that we would be going through a tunnel soon and to turn on our lights and keep our hands in the windows.

It would be dark.  

We stayed away from the bar car for a while but the draw was irresistible. After a few hours we were there again but you never left my side.  Then you did. I was looking for you but you would disappear and not answer me when I called you name. The tunnel went deeper and darker and I didn't know where you were and I suspected you liked it that way. The train began to slow down again as we exited the tunnel.

I finally found you back at our seat, you had moved one row away from me. I asked you to come back, tried to hold your hands but you pulled away with vehemence. When I came back from the bathroom you had moved another row farther.
I knew I was losing you.
I begged you to return but you told me calmly that it was time for you to get off. At some point in the tunnel you had decided that you didn't want to go anymore . Your mind was made. You were going to catch another train at the next station.

When the train stopped I thought for sure you would reconsider but you didn't. Didn't even give it a thought. You just grabbed your coat and hat with one big bag under your arm. You kissed me on the cheek like a french stranger and were off. Going somewhere else on a different train. Just like that.

I rode the rails for quite some time by myself , many people getting on and getting off, passing me by. Every once in a while I would think I saw you at a station or in a **** though the window of another train. I often thought I could smell you but when I breathed deeper it was always gone. A ghost dancing on the edge of my senses.

A young girl in a headband got on the train. She was listening to headphones and dancing to herself as she bobbed along. She sat down in the seat next to me flashing a smile. She had a wedding ring on and I dismissed her immediately.  She didn't move from the seat or stop glancing my way. Eventually she confessed that she wanted to talk. I told her I wasn't interested but she persisted.  I hadn't talked to anyone on the train for quite some time and after some more mild persistence, I gave in.

We had a lot in common. We were both riding alone, desperately wanted attention and were thrilled to receive some.  After a few laughs she slid her hand in to mine and interlaced her fingers. I left it there. It was warm, comforting and wrong. She was married but I had been riding alone so long it felt good to have some company. She stayed and we talked. She was broken and I had a knack for fixing things. After a few hours of dramatic conversation I fell asleep with her head on my shoulder.

When I woke up  the train was flying up the track on the side of a mountain. Trees and rocks were a blur of green and grey. The engineer must be trying to make up for lost time I thought to myself.

The girl was asleep with her head on my lap. I looked down at her hand and the rings were gone. I woke her briefly to ask where they went. She said she didn't need them anymore and had thrown  them out the window.  She could of sold them, I said, but she said she just wanted them gone so she could be mine and fell back to sleep.  All of a sudden I couldn't breath. This train was roaring down the tracks, the once gentle click clack had become a loud hum. Suddenly too loud. This girl in my lap who had just gotten on the train wanted to stay. I considered her for a while as she looked up at me with big blue eyes, shining and wet, like a puppy in the shelter, terrified of rejection and desperate to be adopted.

At the peak of the mountain, just when the train began to even out, you waltzed back in to the car with a champagne flute in one hand and your bag in the other.

I don't know when or where you got back on, must have been a few stations ago when I stopped looking for you. Maybe you were wearing a disguise, who knows what you had been up to while you were gone. I'm not sure how long you were away but it was quite some time. That you had been through something was obvious, a new wrinkle had formed on your brow and you're once confident stride had changed to a cautious stroll. What actually happened out there I don't know.  I never asked and I don't want answers.

You looked at me and smiled. It was good to see that smile, like sun on my face on a brisk day.  You took a step toward me and then I looked down in my lap at the girl at the same time you did. I looked up. You and your smile were gone.

Everything I had begun to feel for this broken, head banded girl in my lap dried up like a puddle in  the dessert.  I quietly and gently nudged her awake and told her I had to use the bathroom. She put her head down on my coat and fell back into what ever trance she had been in, eyelids gently fluttering, eyes searching beneath them for what I would never give her.

I dashed up the isle and threw open the door, almost shattering the glass. The conductor glared at me and rolled his eyes as I barged past to the space between the cars.

There you were. Standing on the stairs with your head out the opening. The wind was blowing your perfectly formed curls around your head like a blonde explosion of familiarity. I yelled your name and you dove in to me. My senses erupted, my mind went numb as the train was nearing another station and I inhaled your essence greedily.

We moved to another car. I abandoned my coat with the married girl and never looked back. I hope she found what she was looking for. I  never could have been the answer she was so desperately seeking but I know I  helped steer her towards it.

You told me you had encountered some other people out there on the rails and they had reminded you of what we had when we first left the station. I never forgot.  

The train started to rock and get going again. We were back in the bar car and starting to brown out. We had to get off of this train right ******* now. In a desperate moment we looked at each other and put our hands, together, on the emergency brake cord. I looked in your eyes with your hand on top of mine. You kissed me while yanking down on the cord. Time slowed, the breaks squealed and everything exploded throwing luggage, people and the entire contents of the bar car in to a nondiscriminatory chaos . We got up off the ground, ran to the end of the car, dove off the side in to a soft patch of grass and rolled down a small incline. We watched as the conductor sifted through  the mess and interrogated the passengers, trying to ferret out the party responsible for pulling the brake. He spotted us off the side of the tracks and shook his fist while shouting every conceivable obscenity combination.

We laughed, held each other in the grass and kissed deeply.

We watched the train pick up speed and disappear in to the hills as relief spread over me.

You interlaced your fingers in to mine and we both looked out to where the tracks disappeared into the horizon, wondering how far of a walk it was to the next station.
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
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haven't   what's   you'd   they'd   man's   boys'   god's   woman's   fruit's   orion's   newton's   lincoln's   adam's   momma's   ******   jackson's   audis   dulces   disproportionately   charon's   deseos   avocadoes   hailey   eran   beatles'   ingles   he   she   it   rackets   --   hashtag   sixty-three   duct-tape   joysticks   sherman's   15   6th   32   500   7th   2013   extraño   barenaked   tamales   6-year-old   tierras   derpy   ewell   rom-com   themit's   adan   mudpits   puddlepits   war--hell   culp's   shitpits   completaron   chocolatada   levantanse   duraznos   n'sync   huevo   cholitos   levantaron   manzanas   endurece   wozniak's   dispara   nuez   open-endedness   innies   cankles   dunder-mifflin   tunks   buck-toothed   outies   grief-blown   a-gawking
I uploaded all of my past work onto the site already, so everything from here on out will be new and original. This is sort of an experimental idea of mine: take all the words hellopoetry has tracked for me, put it down as if it were a poem, and see how it flows. It actually kind of works sometimes, but I'm not sure. I'm sure it's mostly terrible, but I wanted to try it. Let me know what you think in the comments below!
Hello Sayer Mar 2012
Words were never spoken or exchanged.
"The GO Train is here."
The only five words anyone there ever thought they needed to hear
besides
they weren't words
they were mentality
the briefcases
purses
newspapers
click-a-clacks of heels
rustling of zippers and keys
scrapings of sandals
rollings of bags
sharp noses
blank eyes
all pointed at their exact target
click clack
click clack
a steady stream
of everyone and anyone
men with full black business suits
girls in Gouci and jeans
ladies in Reitmans
men in checkered shirts and khaki shorts
like ants they piled into the
green and white
snake
dreading the fatal announcement
"last call!  Last call!"
they accelerated
full grown men and women
whipping and thudding and click-a-clacking
the wind pushed them back to their cars
the ground screamed "Stop!"
but they didn't listen
a woman
all in blue
who could raise the dead
with her clacking
daintily ran as fast as she could
"DOORS SHUT!" the conductor's voice was muffled
and he followed through
in a spurt of perseverance
soundlessly
the doors closed
At least the adults knew one thing
no amount of noise could open them
so they didn't try
the blue-clad woman slowed to a stop
the GO train had gone
she slumped in the middle of the station
the wind urged her
but suddenly
the train came again
always there
always gone
CLICK CLACK
the heels revived
click clack
click
clack
clack
About the GO-Train to Toronto. I've always felt bad for the people that have to commute that way, because unlike a bus that can stop for the people running to catch it, it is unforgiving and will not stop or open its doors. Also I think if you are in the way of the door when it's closing, it won't move back, so it could easily cut people's limbs off. Scary stuff. The GO-Train is fun to ride, but also kind of evil.
Daylight 4U2C Aug 2014
I'm a little stuck right now.
I got some beans,
but lost my cow.
I was robbed,
but they dropped these here.
Thought it'd be something
I could persevere.
Mom's going to **** me
when she finds out.
I'm going to be cooked instead
there's no doubt!
Jack-o burger,
or Jack smoked-steak.
I can't go back home yet,
or I'll be begging to be baked.
:time passed:
Rain got on my seed
and it almost grew through me
it grew so high and loud
it goes right passed the clouds
It got too much attention
they think this is a plant convention.
I lost the other two seed
Well, I wonder where this leads
:time passed...again:
I..can..hardly....breathe..
this....climb was..too high..for me.
On my way up....my hand was run across by a rat!
And I almost jumped..but I didn't quite feel like..going "splat!"
Now I feel a little better.
But it's so freezing cold up here
now I need a sweater!
Where am I anyway?
It looks brighter than snow.
"Where are you?"
I WOULDN'T HAVE ASKED IF I DID ALREADY KNOW!!
"Where are you little creature?"
Oh wait a minute..wait.
"Where are you? You smell real bad."
What did he just say?!
"Thumpity thump
dumbity dumb
I smell something gross
and almost taste it on my tongue."
I looked around for a sharp weapon,
only finding some gold duck.
So I was going to grab it
when it woke and screamed
"Clack clack!"
I quickly thought to grab it
and swung it over my shoulder by the neck
then I realized mom would love this
and gave the giant a rain check.
I tried to just slide down the the vines
but it didn't go out well.
So I pulled the ducks feathers,
and rode down
until it fell. I hurdled to the ground
still holding tightly on the duck.
then I quickly grabbed a leaf,
and the duck yelled
"Clack clack clack!"
I brought it too my mommy
and she almost cooked it well
but she noticed a patch of feathers missing
and wasn't that just swell.
Comments? like?
r Aug 2014
Out my window
the same world
different day, day after day

I want to grab my bolt bag
tie a red bandana
around my sweet mutt's neck
hop a train, act sane
for a change

Georgia's down the tracks a spell
and Birmingham's half-way to hell
New Orleans in September
sounds pretty good

Woof and me
living free
no cares to carry on our backs
singing clickety-clack, clickety-clack.

r ~ 8/13/14
\¥/\
  |.     Clickery-clack
/ \
Kassiani Apr 2017
The city would have certainly swallowed me
To it, I was
Nothing
An insignificant girl pacing among the skyscrapers
Clack clack clack
Just another percussive layer to the cacophony of thousands
So I rushed home
Childlike
Hid among my sheets lest I was lost in the din
I wanted to be no one and
Everyone
At once
And I could feel the fraying of all my edges
As dissonance picked me apart
Went over each bone, one by one
Pulled sinew from skin from bleeding vessel
And asked me why I had done this to myself

I had done this to myself

Each firing neuron mocked me
Reminded me that there was no solace
In big spaces
Just tiny rooms made tinier by clutter
And percussive feelings
Clack clack clack
Through my skull, round and round
An infinite loop that I can’t break
All because I let myself fall
I should have never
I should have never
I should have never
Written 4/20/17
lachrymose Mar 2014
click-clack
my ever typing keyboard
keeps my family awake.
click-clack
my words pour out.
senseless confusion of teenage years.
not yet wise, but too old to be dumb.
i'm too young to start my life, too young to have experiences,
so i write about people who live.
click-clack*
soon i'll lose motivation as my mother utters a groggy
"Lights out, sweetie."
"Okay momma. Goodnight, I love you."
a walk to the bathroom.
brush my teeth, crawl into the warm covers.
thoughts i can't fathom into words
still running rampant in my
young mind.
TrueSun Nov 2014
Click clack POW POW there goes my gun
Second chances going out for some
***** doesn't mean that you'll be one
I'll slice your neck
Rip your ******* heart right out of your chest
****** you with my glock and behead the rest
Smash your head
Don't give a **** if your alive or dead
Smash till the ******* walls are soaked in ****** red
See your brain
Makes me lose it and I go insane
Now I see the world pouring blood as rain
Tie her up
Cut between her titts then down and out goes her guts
I'm a crazy ******* I don't give a ****
Hammer straight to your face
Make your ****** soul levitate
***** now you in a better place
Cut my wrist
Deep inside and I give it a twist
Feeling weak now im relaxing my fist
Man I wish my mom would of killed me during pregnancy
Now God gots me on this earth tryna start a new legacy
But I feel im the only one and its stressing me
Click Clack POW bullet through my head
Now that im dead
You cry and think of the things you could of said.
Cecilia Kwong Feb 2013
Around me are trains, going everywhere with people of means
Huddled in their puffy coats, face glistening from kisses
The snow on eyelashes of haze, making them cry
For something in their lives stays silent and loud
All I see is just a blur, clearly the movements of a crowd
The train arrives clack clack clack clack clack cla-

        I sit next to a man, broad sloping shoulders
        Staring at bright coloured slogans against the harbor
        My eyes noticed them, and linoleum floors abundant
        his child, bubblegum candy in her hair, eyes closed
        and our ears are attracted to her breathing

        A boy in blue against the blurry water view
        Raises his eye upwards, grinning
        With a paper patch, a Crayola work of gauze
        Fatherly hands ruffle the head, both smile
        and yo ** yo ** a pirate’s life for...

My mind jerks back to what it once was
The conductor’s voice seeps through the corridors
A toned down velvet mixed with earthly undertones
As we all stepped back to ground, and the platform
       carries away the distance in something so close
My observations on a train one day. Noticeable were the people around me, as each individual tells a story through expression and interaction. That day I noticed parent and child interactions, whom are possibly given difficult situations. The feeling of motion and movement.
Alex McQuate May 2017
Click
         Clack
                                  Click
                  Click
  Click

The butterfly knife handle is smooth against my palm,
Worn down through years of ownership and use.

Click
                 Clack
         Click
                                  Click
   Clack

Curtis Stirgers is telling me the story of Poor Ol' John,
My mind is at peace,
And my thoughts are clear.

  Click                    
                    Click
                                       Clack
                            Click
                                      Clack

I can see the flashes of steel,
Sending off glints of light out in the darkened room,
I'm mostly zoned out,
A quasi-zen state in this dance of blade and flesh,
A Balisong Ballet.


Click
         Clack
                                  Click
                  Click
  Click
Found my old blade. Was listening to  Curtis Stigers & The Forest Rangers-  John The Revelator.
Nadeah Apr 2014
Please, sit down .
        Yes.
    We all have purpose in life .
The laws of gravity makes us ....
               Click Clack.
Some human beings say they can't walk.
                In shoes that is .
Rather they be high heels or penny loafers.
  The blood in the vessels of our hearts..
             Click Clack.
                         Giving us the double .
   The double feeling to live .
Humans refuse to just think deep and focus .
         Focus on what they could actually be in life ....
Focus on life changing moments .
       Focus on the click clacking.
I am talking about how living is always ignored .
Katlyn Orthman Dec 2013
Click, Clack
Click, Clack
Footsteps echo

Darkness fleets
within the corners

Shiver, shake
turn and look

No ones there

Click, Clack
Shiver, Shake

Finger tips graze skin,
Paranoia within?

One step, One chill
One fear, One thrill

A shrill screech

A thunderclap in the distance

The lights flicker, flicker

Then go out

Breathe in fast

Breathe out slow

Heart beats a tattoo

Fingers clamped tightly together

Look left

Look right

No one in sight

"Your soul belongs to me,"

A whispered promise

Unwilling fear swelling into terror

Click, Clack, Click, Clack!

Footsteps faster against the floor

Where is the door?

Don't know anymore

Clap, Clap!

Lightning roars

The bolts shine through the windows

"You're mine!"

They scream

A frightened shrill erupts from clogged lungs

Cold clammy hands

Wrapped around a pale and creamy neck

This is the ghost of McBeck
First time I've ever written anything like this, is it any good?
Lavender Joy Jan 2011
clink clink clank cling ding
ding-ding clack
ding ding clink clink clack

masquerade
pianissimo charade
heart strings pulled taught
by a known gentleman
transformed into an unknown savior

flying faces
other worldly in expression but not intent
all are drawn blankly lustful
craving distinction from
a sea of flamboyant feathers
stretched personas

masquerade
freedom is her trade
the light in your eyes
the corners of your lips
for a mask
and a fanciful freedom
alive in compartmentalized limits

clink clink clank cling ding
ding-ding clack
ding ding clink clink clack
ding ding

the song masked musicians play
isn't a song at all
but  a simple masquerade
patti Nov 2012
one o'clock in the morning
switch switch clack clack
there's a train and it's streaming swirls of
steamy illumination
clack clack
eyelids drifting; icebergs, somewhere, melting.

there's a part of my brain and it's
it's drifting back to you
you're walking on those steaming lights
palm on palm and eyes on eyes on faces
creased and turned
with curiousity
and the beginnings of devotion

there was a past, storied; perhaps too complicated
and it's faded; I have managed to turn my head
painfully removed,
toward blue jackets being pulled on
blue and maroon
blue and maroon

you're different, and she's absolutely different
I do not know how I missed the mark
(but oh I hope that she does worse)
blue and maroon
when patched together minds of mine
**** backwards and--
I can't feel you anymore, I can only think
so maybe this is better

blue and maroon
he's getting better; he's not perfect in the same way
but you weren't either in a big way
his faults don't rattle my teeth in my head
and blister my fingertips completely out of bitterness
my eyes don't bleed of acid when he strikes an ill-planned chord
you're gone
and I am staring at this train
eyelids drifting
thinking of blue and maroon
Tatiana Dec 2017
The ominous sounds of heeled boots
clack down the empty hallway.
Making it clear to those hiding
that they are approaching.

The footsteps are measured and slow
Yet loud like they want to be known
as the sound that strikes fear
into the hearts of all men.

There's nowhere to go
Nowhere to hide
the footsteps are apoaching
and we're out of time.

They are almost here.
Just one more corner.
The footsteps are approaching
the sound is like ******.

And when they arrive
we'll be gone for good
and when they leave
our ears will do us no good.

The sounds immobilize us
We can't breathe
We can't see
We duck our heads between our knees

We duck our heads between our knees
and listen while the steps cease
We pray to God
that they leave us be

We pray to God
clack!
they leave us be
clack!
We pray to God
clack!
They leave us
clack!
Be.
© Tatiana
I don't know if this came across as suspenseful, but that's what I was going for. Also, the sound of heeled-anything, echoing in an empty hallway can be terrifying.
Hasan Maruf Apr 2017
The last kiss from you
Lasted like a huddle in
The snow blitz
Rocking my anatomy
In the frosty glitz

The last words from you
That barged in my eardrum
You were in a hurry
To smell a new leaf
Draped in a diamond dew

The last gifts from you
Was an instrument
Which still I use
To recognize people
Or to refuse!

The last time
You said I love you
I remember I was laughing
Hysterically as if I was watching
Jared Leto’s jaded mimicry of Joker in YouTube

Intriguingly, when the last time I saw you ****
It felt like pretty Ivanka’s embarrassment
Noticing her dad is a lewd

The last time I was chatting
With you on Facebook
I was wondering why
I shouldn't hack your account?
To check your inbox

Yea, it was filled with the message of *******
F- Bombs, **** shaming and tagging you as harlot
All they were asking was your service of escort
Either in full discount or in hefty cash drops!

The last time I wrote
A letter of love to you
I discovered my Keyboard
Began to blurt out
No more, No more, No more…

The last time I had a chit-chat
With you in the Burger King or Pizza Hut
I listened to your hissing clack-clack
That someone else has become your puppy cat…

The last time I became sick
When I was with you
I heard you threw a party
Where you were whispering
To your besties, how
I become your double whammy!

The last time I was
With you in the bed
I felt like I was indentured
To **** a dummy toy
Sans spirit and flesh!

Loving you was like
Santa Claus gifted me
With a Pandora’s Box
As soon as I opened it
You decided to release
Our *** tape of your having ******
In pornhub’s forum of interracial!

The last time I heard of you
Is that you were giving an interview
To The Cosmopolitan’s board of review

Facing the barrage of inquisitions
You calmly joked, the series
Of latest uproar about you
In the social media or Internet
Is because certain people always
Love to rave about Women’s body
Shoving in and out of their pigeonhole
With their one night stand queen trophy
To flavor your form in their fantasmic mouth

You also smirked in a raspy voice
Defiantly declaring “we (women)
Have been locked indoors
With no air, no food, no water”
My last boyfriend is also no exception
He certainly thinks I came this far
Through ******* and deception
Slightly anti feminist but a poem representing contemporaneity in our life in a balanced manner of looking into male female relationship.
Stephen E Yocum Oct 2014
Fifteen years old and thinking I was older.
'Assistant Maintenance Man' at a Public School
Summer Camp. Billy Deitz had just graduated
High School, I thought him the coolest guy
I knew. The first week was ended, the little
kids gone home, a new batch in two days time.

We did our work, cleaned and swept, sweated
in the summer sun. Took the old surplus Jeep
over to the creek and plunged ourselves in.
Deitz had some beer in an Ice chest, I drank
one, my first ever. We shot his .22 for a while
and ate PBJs in the shade. Then we heard it.

A train horn in the mountains is a haunting
call. It does not seem to belong there among
evergreen trees and massive granite boulders.
We drove the hell out of the Jeep and found
our way to the down grade tracks. And there
she was maybe 50 cars long, snaking her way
from the summit of the Sierras out of California
into Nevada. Through the Pass over a hairpin
filled course hugging the skirts of the rock face
mountains, slowly rolling her massive load
pushing her four engines, breaks a screeching
in protest. "Click Clack, Click Clack", her steel
wheels clanging upon the rails, a rhythm like
her train heart beating.

Deitz grabbed his coat and tied it round his waist,
looped a canteen over his head, "Lets go kid!"
I did what he said, and then we were running
along beside the box cars, more a trot than a run,
"Do what I do!" Deitz yelled over his shoulder.
A flat car with some machinery approached and
He grabbed on to it and pulled himself aboard,
I copied his moves and he helped pull me up
and then there we stood on the deck of that
moving, mountain ship, with her grunting and
shaking under our feet. We could feel all her
massive weight and power vibrating up through
that wooden plank deck of the flat bed car,
entering our legs and spines. . . It was thrilling!

I had not had time to think all this through,
"Now what?" I asked some what perplexed
"Reno Kid." Deitz yelled with a grin.  

We climbed atop a Box Car, our rail bound
ship crawled out of the upper pass and we
started to descend towards Donner Lake far
below.

Looking behind and ahead it was hard to
understand how they had cut those tracks
out of solid granite rock and how the rails
maintained their frail finger tip grip on the
sheer mountain side.

We ducked nearly flat going through the snow
tunnels, the clearance was tight and it seemed
that a guy could lose his head. The diesel thick
air made us cover mouth and nose with our shirts.
Two tunnels in we noticed our faces getting
smoke blackened. We laughed at the joke.
Soot faced on a boxcar in a tunnel of wood.
Two city kids playing Hobo.

We reached the lower valley, passed the place
where the Donner Party met their grisly end.

Truckee was next and the highway grew close.
We got back down onto the flat car, hunkered
down by machine cargo, more or less out of sight.

I thought of all the down on their luck men that
had ridden those rails, not on a some lark. That
whole Grapes Of Wrath, Woody Guthrie period
of no joke, for real ****. Pushed by poverty and hope.

I must admit at that moment, I felt more alive than
at any other time in my life. I felt grown up, like a man.
Until my belly began to rumble, the speed increased
and the wind began to chill. The Click Clacks of the
wheels quickened and grew irritatingly redundant.
The loud wailing of the engine horn no longer exciting.
Now only hurt my ears.

It was dark by the time we hit Reno, we jumped off
before the train yard. Walked into town with its
bright lights calling the casino gamers to unholy service
and nightly prayer. Proceeded over by hard-bitten
dealers in communal black, with cigarettes dangling
from their unsmiling lips, possessing the empty
dead eyes of the badly used up and down-trodden.
Through the ***** windows, the people there seemed
to possess no joy in their sluggish endeavors.
Both players and dealers all losers, merely Automatons
of those despairing games of chance.

Reno was still rough-hewn in those days, a hard
scrabble place full of cigarette smoke, ******,
card tables, slot machines and not much else.
It seemed to reek of lonely desperation.

Having seen our soot ***** faces in the
window reflection, we washed up in the
cold river that runs through town.

We walked around, ate hot dogs,
Downed a Doctor Pepper.
"Now what Deitz?"
"**** I don't know kid,
first time I ever did anything like this."

"What?" My world collapsed right then,
I thought he was much more than
he turned out to be. Maybe everyone is.
I even started to get a little scared.
No money, no place to stay and apparently,
like most of the denizens there, **** out ah'
luck. I'd never felt that way before, from
mountain high to valley low in two hours.
All that excitement turned to Dread.

We hitched a ride with a long haired
guy of questionable gender, who kept
staring at me in the rearview mirror.
West, to a Truck Stop on the edge of town.
Found a trucker willing to give us a lift
back up to the summit.  Jumped in his rig
happy to find, that his cab heater worked.

Badly judged our get out spot, searched
and stumbled around in the shadowy dark,
dim moonlight looking for that **** jeep,
all that friggin' night.

When the guy that ran the camp returned
and found us sleeping at half past two,
in the afternoon in our tent, to say the least,
He was not amused.

Need I say, I felt much older that next day
and a little wiser too.
I wrote this memory for my kids.
may they never jump a freight train
out of ignorant curiosity.
John Reilly May 2017
Clack clack clack clack
Bing zzzzzzzzzzzpppp
That's the sound it makes
Not Parkinson's
My typewriter
That's the sound it will make
When I type up this
I really don't know what sound
Parkinson's would make
I really don't care
Ha ha
That's ironic
Apathy is a symptom of Parkinson's
I've just used against it
So yeah, I will sit at the typewriter
And clack this out
It will make my fingers hurt and cramp
It will take effort for us both
Stubborn old machines
I will bend you to my will
And when time comes
To stuff me on a shelf
Broken machine
Obsolete
I will have wrung
Every last bit of creativity
Out of us
**** yeah
That's the type of person
I am
Amanda Jun 2019
Looking through the window
I am surging ahead, fast forward
Flying straight as a crow

Clickerty Clack, Clickerty

A rhythm like a heart beat
Takes me to a future not know
From a past I left incomplete

Clickerty, Clack

I am held, as the world turns below me
Frozen in time, I can stay
Where I can be hidden, No-one can see

Clickerty

Bags are heavy, but guilt is a weightier load
Left you, and your angry days
Sorry, I wont be there when your fists off-load

Clack
Clickety, clack, clickety,clack
Went the bright red shoes
Down the pavement to the right  and into a shop of blue
clickety, clack,clickety, clack
Said the bright red shoes, went to the mall and had it all, then traded the bright red shoes.
This isn't a poem but I just wanted to share it. There is a poem at the end however.


Chapter 1: Kenzi


The room is dim. The only light emanating from the small desk lamp in the corner.

“Unhappy with the life I'm living,
Not finding anything to
Wash my ***** slate of emotions
And to keep me from crying.
Nothing to turn to when I cannot
Take anymore of this pain.
Each tiring day I 'm getting thrown
Deeper into the rainstorm.

Trying to find a peaceful way to
Escape contention and get
Away from this life I hate. I
Refuse to cry anymore.
Sunshine doesn't stay with me for long.”


A poem I once wrote. The words ran through my head like a melody.
As I rummage through disorganized desk drawers, I search for a paper and pen. After glancing at the time on my cell phone, 2:11 AM, I begin to write:


“Dear—“

...dear who?...

        “—Everyone,

                          If you are reading this—“


...what do I say in a note like this?...

                “—it means that I've finally released myself from this painful world. I'm   
                          sorry for any heartache that I have caused you and I want you to know
                          that I love you more than anything. Once again, I'm sorry...I'm sorry I left
                          like this.

          Kenzi Mullberry ”




After signing the letter I just sat there, staring contemplatively at the paper.
...am I really going to do this?...

I looked the time again, 2:25. I usually hear the train roll by around 3.
After carefully folding the paper into thirds, I laid it on my bed.
...I hope they see it here...

Peeking out, I slowly opened my bedroom door.

CREEEAAAAK

I froze, listening... All quiet. Cautiously creeping down the carpeted stairs I let out a deep breath of air and arrived at the front entrance. Then, hesitantly, unlocked the door and stepped outside. Standing in the cold night air, I scanned the empty street. Then finally took a deep breath, and started walking.

My thoughts quickly drifted to Adam, my boyfriend.
...would my family tell him about the note? I don't want him to worry...

I took out my cell phone and typed up a text. Staring at the words, a tear rolled down my face. SEND

I checked the time again before putting the phone back into my pocket, 2:43.
...I'd better hurry...
Picking up my pace, I wiped my eyes and then shoved my hands into my sweatshirt pocket.

It was crisply cold out and my pale nose was red and running. A quick shiver ran through my body as the chilled breeze whispered past my ears and fluttered my dark brown hair. I looked up at a car traveling across the freeway overpass. It's surprising that there are still people driving this early in the morning. It's like that saying, "The city never sleeps."
There wasn't a sidewalk on this road so I stayed on the grass, even though there were no cars in sight. I looked to my right as I passed the canal, dry and empty. The irrigation water has been turned off for the winter.
Slowing down, I approached the crossing and my eyes examined the rail line. I could hear the train getting closer. I stepped onto the tracks and could feel them shaking beneath my feet. The train was getting closer and I started to panic as the bright headlight grew and I heard the horn.
...no. I have to do this...
I closed my eyes, embraced myself, clenching my teeth and my frozen fists.
”I'm sorry...”



Chapter 2: Adam


Music ran through my ears.

“...I miss you and it still feels like I know you
I've got pictures of us side by side to show you
But it feels like I owe you so much more

And you will always be perfect
You'll always be beautiful
Our hearts will never forget you
You didn't belong here
And it's become so clear
Why heaven called your name

And it just doesn't seem right, was it really your time?
Are we dreaming?
We'll never let go of you
Wish you were here but it's becoming clear
That Earth's just not the place for an angel like you...”

BZZZZZZ

I paused the music and looked down from the bright laptop screen, picking up the bottom corner of my pillow to reveal my phone.

*               1 MESSAGE:
                 Kenzi

“Huh, what's she doing up so late?” I thought, as I waited for the text to open.

                *Hey babe. i...im sorry...i know i'm about to
break ur heart, but i just cant take it anymore.
When you wake up and see this, i'll be gone...
I Love You Adam <3 im sorry...



“What?”

I re-read the text...

“Kenzi! You idiot–“
I jumped out of bed and threw on my jacket as I burst out of my bedroom and around the corner to the front door. I quickly slipped my shoes on and bolted out, not caring if I disturbed the others sleeping in the house. I had to stop her.
I sprinted across the driveway, knowing exactly where she was going.
She had talked about it so many times before, she'd say, “Adam, I'm so depressed I wish I could get hit by a train.” She'd pretend it was a joke, but I always knew she was being literal.
The air was cold and thin, making my throat dry so it was hard to breathe. I heard the train whistle.
“******* Kenzi...”

I strained to make my legs move faster, they were burning.

After cutting through the park, I passed the cemetery.
“Don't end up there k?...not yet...”

My shoes we're untied, due to my rush out the door, and I stumbled, but regained my balance. All I could think about was running. I could hear the train rumble as I turned the corner and the tracks came into view. I saw her.
“Kenzi!...Kenzi get off!” I was breathing hard and my face stung from the cold. “Kenzi!”

I saw the headlight and knew I wouldn't reach her in time. But I kept running.

CLICK-CLACK CLICK-CLACK CLICK-CLACK TOOOOOOOOT

I finally stopped 10 feet from the tracks. Raising my hands to my head, I grabbed my hair, then threw my arms back down and placed my hands on my knees as I caught my breath.

“Kenzi...you...stupid...” I softly spoke, I could feel tears creeping out of my eyes.

The end of the train finally passed and I jogged over to the tracks. Her body was on the ground, limp; lifeless.
...I can't believe she actually did it...
I bowed my head and closed my eyes, taking in a deep breath of air, then gazed up at the sky in discouragement.

...why did she have to–…

-----------------------------------------------------

*He­ looks into her motionless blood-shot eyes,
and sees something he hasn't seen in years.

A pain so deep, it's stitched into her skin,
leaving dark scars she knew would never fade.

He wants to help, but can no longer feel
The life that once ran through her veins.

The cold has taken over her weakened soul
and left it in the troubling dark of her mind.

She can no longer see, no longer taste
The endless joys they once together shared.

In a world full of happiness and sun
Were only memories of things left behind.

She couldn't see, didn't want to feel, the light
that was softly beckoning her away.

And now he stares at her in a state of something
He knew he could never bare the thought of.

As he kneels beside her he plainly whispers,
“This heart wasn't made for suicide...”
Sethnicity Feb 2016
Black on black on black on black
Wood tar pitched and shackled back
Back to back to back to back
Paid in full no matter man fact
priceless pain packed pickings to rack
crack the back of blacks to stack
paper to pay to paper for play and man
Who's black backs crack and snap
Crack sha clack to crack to Sha clack

Blood and labor and words no savior
On roads and rails and rocks on street blocks
Laws to wrap the black lack in locks
dread locks and cops and knocks and knots
Locks and laws and loops from logs
backlogged black laws closed jaws and halls
freedom is someone who knows the walls
You live you learn you see no turn
so learn to know no way to earn
lose your job your home your wife
A way of life is guns and strife
knot in back no friend but lack
black on black on black on black

Run from hoods in hoods and hide
when the moon is full in a land of lies
Sun by day means mad men by night
Free from chains but not from spite
for them deny and then deny
deny deny deny deny
Washed away with whittle white sight
We musta been wrong when white is right

Cops on blocks in shops and hops
Watch for the Man on beat on stops
Crack on corners and broke back moms
peddle from job to job then sob
Mom and Dad Divorced by workforce
Paid pennies *** many "Too dim of Course!"
Get back, You black, No Slack, Take That
can't pay em the same they'll ruin our aim
For Good and Power and money to reign
From hungry to dummy to nummy and slain
held down by Presidents Planters and Pain
The Pain so well ingrained in brain
  
So train a child the way to grow
Get Money, Get Power, Get Good to Go
Get Smart was said, but a hard road to ***
Some Rattle some Crackle
some Dream some Battle
Moving the movement by Marching the Capital
But capital got capped and Anger got tapped
burning the bridges extended tween US
When Fed help medicate minds but menial
The gun clap on black when black on back
burn the bridge we all worked to track
but silent echoes sha clack sha clack
Attack is back so black react

We gamble on gravity with coin of Change
knowing the game ain't geared for gain
ignore the lack of footing in rain
For certain it's curtains yet playing the same
blinders on, triggers on, surprise when maimed
Forgotten the root so strange fruit ain't strange
Aged in grief raged in street
surprise when lame, inflamed, in heat
We old in defeat deranged and weak
should have been focused on governing seats
Youth forgot when work was sought
In a world wide web the mind was bought
Trapped in chains unseen yet wrought
To dream is deemed an impure thought
Wonder why kids abandoned the plot
A dream deferred is a dream forgot
When truth repeats the gears don't stop
When voting is bought the truth gets locked
in cycles, in history, in catch phrase, then plop!
Black and White in Chains Distraught
Distraught no thought with teeth dry rot
the lot has rot and lost its hot
Slavery Antiquity and Dreaming De' mode'
Truth is Questioned and Fiction la Mode'
Truth is Fact too black for show
So Back too Black to Act just mold
Anger and fear our coal to hold
remember regret, let go, too bold
So revolt loose canary for gold
too late to leap the mind will fold
the future looks cold so cold so cold
but the dice we roll and roll and roll...

But Why?
When Blacks in Stacks in Fear; The Facts.
A Belief History of Black America.

It's a mentality steeped in grieving, I can't wait for all communities of humans to get to the Forgiving stage of grief.. the one not mentioned because it's so closely related to Healing.  I'll be the first to admit that I'm striving for the Forgetting stage... but I am not there yet, but I'm trying Ringo, I'm trying real hard to find the God in Me.
Cheyanne Hopkins Aug 2018
The stuck together fragments of my body tap against each other
Making a beat that fills my ears, why can no one else hear it?
They click and clack and clap and ding and knock

Click,
click, clap, click,
ding,
clack, click,
Knock, knock, knock

Whose at the door now?
The noises fill my ears and my brain
and it is hard to think
hard to focus
hard to calm down because the noise never stops
and then it calm
and the world is quiet and look around a dark room and I can focus
and

click, click,
clack,
ding, knock, clap, knock,
ding, click.

why won't the noise stop
just leave me alone

click, clap, knock,
click, ding.

I just wanna sleep
please just be quiet for a while

click, clack, knock,
ding, knock,
knock,
clap,
ding.

I'm going insane
just stop
I'm always on the verge of tears
the dam ready to break at any second

click, clack, ding, clap,
knock,
knock,
knock,
knock.

STOP!

— The End —