what is't?what is't about public transport that setsMore Like This
this poet('s mind or muse or spirit) free?
once i've paid the -cough- nominal fee
and taken my seat, what is't that then wets
my stylus' tongue for the rivulets
of syntax and rhythm that rollingly
flow until my trip's end and carry me
swift past the shores of my joys and regrets?
could it be the white noise of vibration?
the idle time of travel standing still?
the patterns in the chatter i'm a-midst?
i seek, from the bards, illumination;
i'm hoping that this answer they'll distill:
"of poetry and transport; pray what is't?"
TracksThe tracks went on and on. Cold and hard,More Like This
in sharp contrast to a bundled heap
of colourful warm winter coats.
In the blanket of snow: tracks
of forty-two tiny booted feet.
Through the whirl of flakes: outlines
of twenty-one tiny mitted hands.
A wave back from behind the frosted glass.
An image floating by.
Eternity condensed to a moment
before breath fogs up a window.
What stays: not the snow. Not the train. Not I.
What stays: tiny smiles through the cold air.
Winter's MelodyMore Like This
The Winter I Want by eMBeeL
The Road by masimage
Winters Back Roads by sugartwins
Ein Anflug von Winter by FeliDae84
Cold Silence by BokehLight
group by indojo