Two Poems From A Newcastle Metro Station Platform

I wait at Metro stations frequently.  Sometimes I think crazy thoughts.  Sometimes I see crazy things.  Sometimes I write about it either while still waiting for the train or afterwards.  These are two short poems written a few days apart this month.  On one day I was struggling with severe mental health difficulties more than on the other.

One:

Sign on a Metro platform
Advertises an excitement
Beyond dreams.
Wilder than the rainbow men
Laughing on the tracks
Painting the walls. Careless
Of colour crosses and danger.

Thursday night: Monument lift off.
And while I was aware
Our Monument is transformed,
A socialist maypole of hope,
They neglected to tell me
It had been retrofitted for space.
My sanctuary city is starbound
And I will be riding Earl Grey’s hat
To spread some universal madness.

 

Two.  Written a few days earlier:

Monument Metro Station
Platform 3.
5.15 pm 13th July 2018
A true story
Free written 
Home. Safe. Fed. Resting.
Far too aware of unbalance.
6.45 pm 13th July 2018
.
TW: Yep. Just don’t read it if you need a TW.
.
..

..
.
They stand on the railway tracks
Swaying. Gently.
In perfect disharmony.
Darkest hair, silent glares.
Holding hands while pointing at me
As if each man had an extra arm
While passing sight with only two.

Swaying. Gleaming. Hurtful.
Teeth that bleed
Clothes that gracefully shudder
In the playful breeze
Of the oncoming train.

I do not fear for them.
We see them not as we see you
But as solidified mists, clarified strength
Existing beyond the world of metal
Railway tracks, unsafe stone platforms
And oblivious commuters’ eager eagle
Eyes, fixed only on the approaching doors.

They stand no more,
Swept away in curse crush of steel tonnage
Through ghost held weightless life.
The crowd rush past.
I am left alone.
Just one more mad woman
Without humanity or hallucination.

I stand on the yellow line
I stare on the railway tracks
One voice within wishing
That we had held the hands;
Been real among the unreal.
One voice crying in relief
That we are still here
To witness illusions dying
Until survival’s pain passes away,
Crossed over to willful blessing.

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