Morning on the metro

In chthonic snaking underneath
we’re crammed commuting flesh to flesh;
with faces luminent, as if our death:
is closer now when brought us fresh
a morning when from Manchester we listen
to the panicked screams of teenage girls.
I see a face, and teardrops glistens:
in this – our metro grave, for blood and pearls
of budding life unfairly taken.
No words suffice, we nod and understand
we might be shocked or shaken
but, most of all we still, united stand.
We leave, we part with underground, remember
that though it’s summer in our hearts November.
But give or take a day or two we’ll think
that retribution makes a pale girl pink.

The Transfer by Michael Bell

Today Paul hosts at dVerse with the prompt being underground, let it be from any point of view, a subway, mine or cave. We will serve you gin and chthonic tonight.
May 23, 2017

18 responses to “Morning on the metro

  1. Oh so very very tragic and evil this latest act of violence in Manchester. I do not understand how anyone can think that a bomb in a venue filled with innocent teenagers, children and parents can have any meaning or purpose. Your post is well written and “teardrops glisten” across the world to learn of this.

  2. I am familiar with ‘crammed commuting flesh to flesh’ from years of going on the Tube – I much preferred the Strassenbahn in Cologne because it’s was mostly above ground and wasn’t quite so deep and dark when it went down under.
    How true the lines:
    ‘No words suffice, we nod and understand
    we might be shocked or shaken
    but, most of all we still, united stand’.

  3. I love this poem, especially the first four lines. I do not say that lightly. I had to look up “cthonic” and its dual meaning as both “underground” and a reference to Greek gods is just perfect for/in this poem.

  4. Horrible thoughts of yesterdays events in Manchester. Dark times.
    “chthonic” indeed — use that is a pub and see what happens. 😉

  5. “from Manchester we listen”…”teardrops glisten”…I can’t imagine the mindset behind this! Also, “though it’s summer in our hearts November.” Well done.

  6. that last line speaks volumes about the never ending spiral of interference-insurgence-retribution that humankind seems to have locked itself into.

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