Poems

Metro Sonnets

The Metro Stairs

What Freudian brutes roam beneath these streets?
Sheiks from the abyss, subterranean
Movements, a shrouded caliginous beast
Stalks the innocent, chanting Chaldean.
Is there virtue below these cobble stoned
Boulevards, a dawn in a sunless land?
Is there a place for those who have atoned?
A place for those who follow your commands?
Surely there is goodness at St-Michel
Or Saint-Sulpice on the Port d’ Orleans
Line. If I were to ring Notre Dame’s bell,
Could it flush the urban underground clean?
No matter what I try those beasts beneath
Reign in the passages baring their teeth.

St-Michel

He ranted in a Babylonian
Tongue. Prophesying destruction and an
End to our rootless Dionysian
lives. A self appointed sanctified man,
The ragged book he held in his right hand
Appeared useless, mocking his arcane rage.
Oh lost prophet, where is your homeland?
Have you been sent to heal this faithless age?
Summon up the dust of our lost lives, mix
The waste with your saliva and
Create a soothing balm to mend and fix
Our eyes onto something infinitely more grand.
Work your miraculous tricks before we
Gaze away. We merely trust what we see.

Pigalle

She sauntered on the train dressed in darkest
Night, planting a garden of lust as she
Moved. Ruby lips concealed a searing nest
Of flames that consumed the bold who would not flee.
The throbbing train pounded through eternal
Desires, flashing beneath muted masks
Waking unknown hungers in this nocturnal
Land. This Dulcinea grasped the pole to bask
In her admirers’ studious stares,
Rolling her hips with the jostling car.
Inviting the unwary to her lair
To open desires mad and bizarre.
Avert your eyes before it is too late.
She feeds on fire and decides deathless fate.

Opera

Accordion music spills wildly
Into the Metro. Unrestrained dancing
Arises. Bacchus saunters dreamily
Amongst the crowd, bottle in hand, splashing
This year’s vintage into awaiting cups.
Pandemonium surges, thickening
The earth-shattering jubilation. Cups
Are drained and yet the parched are still yearning.
The party multiplies beyond control
Degenerating into a jarring
Cacophony. The godforsaken souls
Are despondent and left desiring.
The heartless lights at Moulin Rouge reveal
That Bacchus and Pards do little to heal.

Bastille

A crimson beast charges through the aisle.
Assaulting those who do not step aside.
Shattered souls are left sprawling as this vile
Beast destroys feigned morality. This bride
Of butchery frightens the bravest
Warriors into secluded corners.
Will no one challenge this beast? The eldest
Look to the young. The executioner
Circles its victim spewing invective.
The frenzy builds swelling the beast’s volume
Until all are forced into protective
Positions waiting to be consumed.
Full of sound and fury the beast stalks out
Into the Metro stop with a stunned shout.

St-Denis

I see you sitting there, your head resting
On your lap. Did Fabian send you on
Another ghastly odyssey testing
Your tolerance for torment? Last time dawn
Produced agonizing persecution.
What makes you think this time will be different?
Decius is gone but Revelation
Remains incomplete. Do you trust Advent
Still? Is your faith that boundless? Your severed
Crown brought conviction to the church of Gaul,
Maybe your faith can bring hope to this blistered
Land. Lift your head high above and call
Into these dark passages your sermon
And restore the Temple of Solomon.

Metro Terminus:
Mark 9:43

The Metro cannot be destroyed without
Caving in the broad boulevards above.
Whether demolition would help I doubt.
These violent exploits don’t mesh: God of love.
Filling up the creatures’ dim passageways
Would drive them to daylight to terrorize
The ordered surface land. Old Hemingway’s
Clinic Doctors thought they might cauterize
Him back to sanity. Ten thousand volts
Later, he vanished into the Metro
Never to return. Keep your thunderbolts
For someone else. Even though the Metro
Is repulsive, it keeps the beasts moving
from station to station halting crowding.

Categories: Poems

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