Mta poems on Hello Poetry

Wk kortas Nov 2017

It was not, by any means, a loss of faith;
Indeed, her devotion was a boundless, unfettered thing
Beyond proscription, beyond rote chant and catechism,
And what she found as a novitiate
Were shuttered gates and gossipy confessionals,
Standoffish priests, pig-eyed and pinch-lipped
Sisters who thought life’s commerce
No more than mechanical prayer and spotless linens,
The whole enterprise
Smacking of the exclusion of Heaven’s bounty.
So she demurred when the time came to take her orders,
And she returned to the world of pavements and lesser pieties,
Free to seek God on park swings and barstools,
In pleasures of the pastoral and the profane,
Though her faith is no Dionysian walkabout,
As she is passionate to the cusp of maniacal
When it comes to the Book of James’ admonition upon works;
She is often found among the sisters she once tiptoed alongside
At food pantries and clothing drives
(She is scrupulous about ministering to only secular needs,
As the Bishop is not happily disposed towards those
Who choose not to take the veil,
And the specter of excommunication is a prospect
Too awful to contemplate)
Afterwards clambering onto some vaguely roadworthy MTA bus
Back to her studio apartment in Green Island,
Where she often walks down to the Erie Canal lock nearby,
Praying for those who have travelled near and upon the water,
Convenience store clerks and ragged Irishmen fleeing famine,
Feral kittens and insufficiently mourned mules.

#afairlyfaithlesswork

Bus Poet Stop Jul 2017

BusBusNYC (A Live Love Bus App)

<•>

BusBusNYC (A Live Love Bus App)

•<>•

if you made it this far, so fare one,
be undressed with thyself and impressed as well,
for thou joints me in holy matrimony upon a living map

where our presences can meet
in virtual real time as if eye new what that meant

but that blue dot is where this body possessed can be located by the nearest satellite finger snaking down from the heavens to Cain mark my foreheads location,
just like on Game of Thrones

don't you desire me, or rather,
the knowledge of mine
whereabouts?

the who of me, that very useful information, can best be
seen moving crosstown on the M72,
which is a mythological bus for in twenty years eye never
seen it come, go, though all its stops clearly marked

see me moving in fits and spurts of bursts of movement,
leaping streets and avenues in a single
unbounded, unstoppable superbus leap

in a city of anonymity where all who walk it streets,
ride the tides of its buses,
all ask a single Job-like question,
regardless of age,
"I am desirable, do you want me?"

eye say the ayes have it,
no,
this is not a great poem

but!
this live bus map app is the dating site ever created by
geeky human cells
alll this virtual meeting possibly leading to coitus
with a stranger while Pandora serenades
with perfect synchronicity, playing and plying us with
Romance for a Violin and Orchestra in F Minor,
a combination musical **** work of
Dvorak-Mehta-Midori

this bus app is
the social media's most immediate,
so meet me on the bus
at Broadway and 86 Street
where our metro cards can be
merged and we will be recognized
as a legal couple(ing)
in the eyes of MTA,
a multi-state agency and be bound in bustrimony
(legally married when riding on a city bus, only)

jeez, a crazy poem, not just, not a good one

but a true tale from the one who rides the buses and only
alights and delights with regaling tales and tellings

of love sortie sorrow maybe tomorrow the busbusNYC
app wil apply itself a smidgen better and
let me love you even with
a good under the hood
bus poem

but!
someday we will,
this, thy poet,
who does desire youalone,
will hijack you and a NYC bus,
and visit the poets from India and
the Great Northwest

won't that be a fabulous poem!

Choudhury

https://appsto.re/us/nxo6H.i
What's New
The bus app can now help subgles locate
compatible mates interested in riding the buses and falling in love

#busbusnyc #*** #live #love #bus #app

eye say ahhhh Jan 2015

MTA

The option of life is hard
To keep on and on without an end
I watch the train arrive and go
I ask myself is this the one
What burden bothers the conductor
Could I stop this train in time
Will he try to die tonight
I've contemplated everyday
The pros the cons
But anyway

#happiness #r #train #n #d #newyork #subway

ShFR Nov 2013

****** Shinigami (Spoken Word)

Her shallow waters, I dove in
head first trynna be someone
I shouldn't sin
suicide
if she wanted I would jump again; terrorist all she needed was a turban with a Taliban as a wristband
chants written on her body they were lyrics then
tattooed, and I was thinking more like angel wings instead she brought a dress from the devil on the ****** sands
tainted, glasses even tinted, everything Instragram everything vintage, everything is everything to her im just a witness; a blast from the past, a mistress of a mistress Killed it.
matter fact **** me this not what I wanted and I not who I should be; you say the sky's the limit but my limit is a frisbee my sky is a ceiling of a feeling of what could be
I don't think I want you any more!
MTA
stand clear closing doors
gasoline
burning bridges to the floor abandon ship ***** you don't wanna fall alone
but it seems im stuck in Davie Jones and swimming in her waters is the only way to roam,
grown
daughter of the music angel so; burn
Sean is the only way to go; swerve
I had get up outta there but no one elses water taste like Everclear and no one elses water I could jump in bare
matter fact there was never water there i could jump in raw, the rain coat was never there
Hold up, but what was I thinking
I knew her whole song she never had to sing it
I knew that it was wrong, I couldn't stop reneging
***** after ***** after *****
cut after cut with a blade
clubs I would cut cause of shame
I knew her whole hand so who is up for blame,
Or is this just a phase but maybe I was wrong, to think theres something better and maybe Im alone in thinking that there was palm trees and maybe nicer weather after I was giving up but I cant forget her.
so I
jumped in again, head first
she was wet all clear, slick roads
traveling full speed on her **** curves words slurred vision about to go
I'm bout to give it all up to this girl
my mans like I don't really think you know
cause once you go in raw you already sold your soul
and once you eat her fruit she already took your clothes.

© 2013 by S Fraz All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of S Fraz

Desire Feb 2019

NEW YORKERS BE LIKE: **MTA ANNOUNCEMENT**

"A, B, C, D, 1, 2, 3,
4, 5, 6, 7, E, F, M
G, L, N, Q, AND R
TRAINS ARE NOT RUNNING.
WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE
INCONVENIENCE..."

@desire.is.dope
2-26-19
0838

#desire #desireisdope #dope #newyorkersbelike #newyork #newyorkcity #ny #nyc #mta #nyctransit

Christina Lau Dec 2015

one-way ticket home, please

Someone’s world jumped
onto a cold set of tracks
at Jamaica station
early last week.

Someone’s world jumped
into the universe next door,
leaving us all for
being too human.

At the time,
I was trapped at Penn Station.
A pain spread
about my stomach
like a pen pressed against
a sheet of looseleaf.

MTA officials made announcements,
calling it a mechanical malfunction.

9 to 5 businessmen in
deep black suits with bluetooth headsets
groaned and bargained
for passage home,
ready to ride
through a stranger's graveyard.

Little kids ran through shops,
fingers sticky with frozen yogurt
and popcorn- surprise treats
used as pacifiers.

I sat in a well known coffee shop
pondering life and death.

The word suicide didn’t hurt
like it used to, but I felt
connected to this stranger.

I thought about
that person’s lover,
that person’s sister,
that person’s mother,
that person’s friend.

I thought about how
all of their galaxies stirred and switched gears.
A planet of theirs- tremendous or trifling in their own imagination-
collapsed and changed the course of everything.
I wondered if their galaxy halted and
each star and planet mourned or
if their galaxy smoothed over the craters
and dodged all the meteors and
didn’t even blink.

My galaxy shifted and
clouds laid thick.
Stars dimmed their lights in harmony.

A few years ago
or even a few months ago,
I would’ve cried
and thought
about following this
stranger to train station heaven.

But now,
I thought about
my sister’s galaxy,
my mother’s galaxy,
my best friend’s galaxy.

Now,
I felt sadness
but I also felt love.

an old poem re-written

#love #suicide #sadness #galaxy #universe #human #planet #train #station

Rebecca Gismondi Feb 2016

February in New York

two MTA

workers play invisible baseball across platforms at Union Square

the runs in my tights mimic the skyscrapers
whose marks I see across the black sky from the rear

window while he ***** me in the backseat of his Audi

an alley in Brooklyn,
the threat of a subway slasher,
the likelihood of getting lost,

but the questioning by tourists for direction

if I say “I am one of you”, it

discredits my memories here:

[pumpkins on 34th in July
kisses in bathtubs in Meatpacking
top of the Whitney]

but I am not (yet) one of you:

impatient drivers,
L train riders,
rainbow bagel obsessers

I still feel a hand grip my throat when walking down 5th
and throw my bones off the Chelsea Pier
before I spend 11 hours wondering why I haven’t yet committed myself to you.

#love #man #girl #boy #new #*** #woman #york #buildings #towers

Melody Williams Jan 2017

MTA

It’s funny how the sound means nothing
A shot like the loudest heartbeat
Is nothing compared to the engine heat on my side lying on the floor of the bus

Afterwards all I could think was Of Course
Of Course it was real and Of Course they came from the school
And Of Course I was there when it happened

They say we can no longer distinguish fantasy from reality
And I kept thinking I know when I’m asleep and when I’m awake
I didn’t realize they meant we no longer knew how to act while awake

Like water shooters
Like toys, like pointed trigger fingers
Like the loudest heartbeat

Like the sound
Of hitting the bass drum
When the tarp tears

I spent forever trying to describe that sound
All after it had happened
Which is funny, because it didn’t mean anything to me then

I kept thinking Is this real?
I kept thinking It can’t be
I kept thinking while it was

The sweat sticky on my fingers
I don’t put my headphones on
I want myself to suffer the sound of the sirens and know it could have been me

I want to tell him
I want to tell her
I don’t

I lie to my parents so they don’t have to worry
I lie to my friends because they don’t need to know
I lie to myself when I say I’m okay

Lying on the floor of the bus
Is the first time I think of death and am legitimately scared
My life does not flash by but I think of my mother and how I don’t want this for her

When I feel that I am about to die
For the first time
My only regrets are never being loved and my mother having to find me this way

I say, “It all looks different: strollers with blankets on top.”
“Kids laughing too loud, like, are you laughing or screaming?”
“Strange people,” I pause, “Hands in pockets.”

preservationman Jan 26

SOMETHING ABOUT AN MTA NYC RIDE

Up and down the block
It’s a never stop
The ride that adds the city never sleeps
Your own soulful to keep
Seeing the MTA bus is neat
It’s like being a treat
The subway can’t be left out
Vintage time then I am talking about
NYC Transportation history
Behind is a lot of mystery
The ride on the LIRR
A railroad that goes far
You don’t really need your car
Destination could be NYC Midtown or East side
The journey of LIRR and Metro North will provide
Some from Metro North Grand Central and LIRR Queens, Brooklyn and Long Island points
Places to go
Feel the traffic commuting traveling flow
Journey through by your own time
What could be so find?
Rides back then that continue now
All I can says is Oh Wow.

preservationman Sep 2017

VINTAGE BUSES ARRIVED IN BROOKLYN

It was downtown Brooklyn being more than a place to shop
It was the annual MTA Bus Festival encouraging people to stop
There were buses of the past where people could board
Each bus having their own description and design their own accord
Yet along with the past buses were the present buses of look and observe
These buses do commuter runs every day
Moving people from any borough in every way
You can applaud as that is ok
Progress was made and there wasn’t settle for less
It was advancement at its best
But for the kids being buses surprise
Yet they had a learning experience beyond their realize
The kids even had the opportunity to take Pony rides
It was adventure being an experience the event would provide
Urban living with a rural environment flavor
This is something being a kid’s heart to savor
But there was more than just the Bus Festival
This was also an event called the Atlantic Antics being a street fair
Vendors for miles
Aroma of the Food senses being captivation while
I even had the opportunity to meet an Author who had written a book
I brought the book and had to glance with a look
So the Bus Festival and Atlantic Antics was a day of fun
I am glad I took the time to be among.

Stephan Cotton Sep 2016

Ode to an Articulated Bus

It’s been ten minutes, maybe more
I’ve stood here pacing, waiting for
A crosstown bus; it’s always late,
I’ll never make it home by eight.

I’ve now been here for fifteen minutes.
Have I seen a crosstown in it?
I’ve been waiting (and berating)
While MTA’s articulating.

It’s been twenty minutes now
I’m getting plenty sore at how
These buses never run on time;
They leave me sitting here to whine
About the service’s decline,
Too mad to even make a rhyme.

Thirty minutes is too much
Why do they call this hour rush?
And why are buses getting bigger
When we need them only quicker?
I could stand here half the night
With no buses within sight.
I think I’ll walk while there’s still light.

Jonathan Moya Apr 2019

The Loneliness of Moving Spaces

To ride the subway clutching half dead roses
in a paper bag is to know that shadows
have weight, light has gravity and geometry
exists in algorithms of pain, that  sadness
is  a reflection of the loneliness of space and time.

Even the sisters under the MTA map,
one cradled in uneasy sleep
in the cleft of the other’s shoulder,
the woke one staring mournfully ahead
as the cab lights alternate between
jaundice station hues and tunnel blacks,
are aware that they are moving grave stones.

The lovers awkwardly  kissing in the next seat,
her eyes slightly open not meeting his gaze,
their heads tilted so far their faces misalign,
exist in the uncertain promise of intimate connection.

A woman stealthily smoking nooses of ash
steps on, cradling  a crying cup of coffee,
while an old man with a cane holding a
rattling tin of coins blindly exits to the platform.

At the top of the exit, the nearest brownstone
has a family gathering to take a clan photo,
their impatient gazes exposing the micro spaces
between their existence and their own lonely thoughts.

Sassperilla Nov 11

Closing Mass

My privilege was a vehicle
For departure
Over the broken roads
That the MTA
Spent hours delivering me
Past gutted houses

Today Father Bob reminded
Our now creased faces
Among the velvet cushioned pews
In the space that
Paints our dreams
That we are forever indebted
To silent benefactors that paved our way
Out of West Baltimore

If he had remembered me
When we processed by
For the last time
I’d have told him
Of my life’s work—
for no one to feel inferior
Under the weight
Of borrowed dreams

For it is owed every soul
Traversing these roads

They say you cannot
journey home again
But you should
To confirm
How you left
In the first place

Onoma Mar 2020

From Her Hands

with the mta

bit to the blue collar,

buses absent themselves.

so you watch time burn

holes in the schedule.

hold your breath till embers

beam out of ash, numbering

your route.

as you read a lean text thru

the shades of a low battery.

a reminder you forgot the

food your mother sent you.

trekking back because you

know you had to eat from her

hands.

food made with truly medicinal

thoughts--there's no social distancing

momma.

— The End —