Grand Central Station, NYC
Photo from Google Images
One week, my poetry group leader asked us to consider taking the train. Well, my trains of thought below switch tracks now and then: from London's Victoria Station Underground to the New York City's Metro North, which in 2005-06, transported me from Connecticut via Brewster, NY to Grand Central Station, NY City, a phantasmagorical experience, centered with love.
Phantasmagoria
My train of thought travels
along rickety tracks
holding onto every second
of life, whirling images
in hues of benevolence,
common sense, and innocence
trying to make sense of it all,
love
Thrilling, drilling,
milling, willing,
this train has made stops:
friendships, family,
laughter, tears
love
Dedication, rumination,
allocation, tribulation,
abandonment, containment
achievement, bereavement
love
Once, I rode the train in London.
It stopped suddenly, and we
were told to evacuate.
The bomb did not detonate!
Divine Love
I stepped through a city of bedlam
eyes of fear, fearless, far from home
found my way to the British Library
back to my daughter’s smiling eyes
alive and satisfied, determined:
Loved
Clickety-click, the clock ticks
in synchronicity with New York City.
Passengers wait, date, relate, abate
whirling past the swans, evergreens,
quaint boutiques of Chappaqua:
country love
to Harlem’s door,
racing past graffiti,
colors smearing, words jeering
interlocking letters on a wall
tcxtual shout outs: anxious, proud
confused, fused, words:
city love
Bridge to tunnel, dark, lights blink
so many tracks, interlace under
this train slowly squeals to a stop,
doors open; we walk through the gates
under a Grand Central firmament
to blend in with the multitude
and I am one...
love.
© Jeanne I. Lakatos
Wow! This was an express train! I like the repetition of love and loved at the end of each verse. The whirlwind of images and lovely playful words was a real treat.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Argent! Yep, indeed, it was the Express Line. Glad you enjoyed the ride.
ReplyDeleteYip , like Argent, I was hooked by the love.Would be a nice one to be read out loud , nice rhythmy rhymes racing down the page and I has gotta go to Chappaqua!
ReplyDeleteThanks, TFE... As I wrote this, I envisioned the old steam engines, and those 'loves' were the puffs of steam enveloping those trains. Oh! and in New York-ese, 'Chappaqua' rhymes with 'door.' ; )
ReplyDeleteActually, the entire route of the Metro North is a wonderful ride through the countryside north of the City, with the Harlem stop an exquisite one. Then, it's zoom! Right into Grand Central Station! If you look closely at the photo, you might see the celestial artistry in the ceiling of GCS.
I had to read this aloud and found myself taking the cadence of the wheels. Great read, Jeanne.
ReplyDeleteComplete agreement with all of the above, a racing train of a poem that blurred me with images and sound and that glorious refrain, love.
ReplyDeleteYes, really there's an awful lot in this one - and you used the image of thoughts running like the train very well. And love washing through it all... lovely
ReplyDeleteThank you, Karen. One day, I'll figure out how post these with sound.
ReplyDeleteTitus, glad to see you could share in the phantasmagorical ride!
Niamh, yes, it's the consistent gift of love that keeps our train of thoughts on track, isn't it?
I like the rhythm and sense of movement in this, and the outpourings of words are lovely. Then there's the bombscare sandwiched in the middle of it, like a little hidden nugget. Really enjoyed this.
ReplyDeleteYou really caught the whole out-of-window experience and wrapped it up in love. Wonderful, Jeanne.
ReplyDeleteKat
Thank you, P.F. I appreciate your kind words.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much, Kat!
"Clickety-click, the clock ticks
ReplyDeletein synchronicity with New York City"
Yes, you could almost be there!
Thank you, Peter! Thanks, too, for dropping by.
ReplyDeleteLoved "this train has made stops" made me think of my own.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Terry! Hope they were pleasant stops for you.
ReplyDeleteThank you, 無尾熊可愛!
ReplyDelete