PublicTransport PoeTry – #5


Imprisoned Train

(Norman Morrow)

Upon surging waters of swelling tide, canopied beneath an azure sky,
across the heads of swaying, sweating travellers, I yearn to see.
Envious of the hooded man, draped against the window pane,
beer slopping, from lager can clasped by unworked hands,
his moaning mouth, foul words blight my soul.

Stale breath courses around the carriage, a baby cries
above the muffled chatter, cloaked in my despondency, a silent groan.
Tunnelled echoes, in darkness sealed, I close my eyes.
Carefree children frolic on the sand dunes of my dreams,
memories faded by the span of ageing, waves.

Screech of braking wheels, shuddering carriage, rustling bags.
Whispering bodies of seated ones, stir,
push against the fragile tempers of comrades stood.
Eyes cast towards freedom’s door, and the hooded one,
tips can one last time and curses those that made him poor.


Norman Morrow was a child of the sixties, but too young to enjoy the excesses of that era. Born in the west of Ireland, he now lives outside Dublin with his wife and seven children, no room for cats or dogs.
Fly fishing has been a lifelong passion. He coaches underage Rugby and Hurling and spends most weekends driving the kids to matches.


About angelikarust

My name is Angelika Rust. I was born in Vienna in 1977. These days, I live in Germany, with my husband, two children, a despotic couple of cats and a hyperactive dog. After having tried almost every possible job from pizza delivery girl to HR consultant, I now make a living knowing English. No, I haven’t yet figured out what I want to be when I grow up, whenever that may be. In the meantime, I write the occasional book.
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