train

Train Station

A train stops 

somewhere.
Pale strangers
with hungry eyes 
and dazed  faces
gazing ,
dragging baggage 
and dusty- shoed feet
 right over left,
into the station.
 
 
Miles of 
dimly lit cavern-corridor;
the acrid city air is heavy 
with filth and hopless
prayer.
woven metal wastebaskets overflow 
yesterdays black and white news
wet;forgotten.
And ticket-stubs
torn in half 
like the curbside heart
of those bid fare well
 
shabby cloth flea market millionaires
in toothless rummage-through
almost carefully...
for tin vessel pocket change
to trade for 
bottles of wine,
or six- packs of beer.
 
Clinging to the littered walk,  
the transient liquid mass
of faceless caricatures
sweep like dust
across a glass photograph.
Starry-eyed children laugh
and talk happy things 
to a gray haired lady in a 
cat sweater.
My how youve grown.

A sharp mechanical scream
made necessary 
diversion from the hi-heeled
 woman 
flesh vendor,
hair dischevled; 
pleading for fare.

A serpet hiss as doors open and exhale  
an overdressed man with plastic hair
carrying flowers; 
greeted by his long awaited lover
and her open arms .
Transition.
Train station. 
Mysterious intention. 
Cause,  or affliction.
  The place where the journey
begins or ends.
 A travel weary heart.
castaway of a vast unknown,
or drawn back to sanctuary home.
Where love chases its 
furry phantom tail....
And
where hopes sprout
 like spring blossoms,
or wither 
like the skin of an old whore.
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SEE HER.

See her? She has it all.
He sleeps at night
and dreams of her.

 

Even the Moon
grows jealous
of his dreams.

 

He see her every day
on the train;
they do not speak;
she sits in one place,
he in another.

 

She looks
good enough to eat
he thinks.

 

He can't wait
until they speak,
until they meet,
make love,
sit and smoke;
have a joke.

 

See her? She has it,
he doesn't, he sits
looking at her
he has the hots;
inside he wastes,
inside he rots.

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The Solemner

I saw you on the train that morning.

You looked so misshapen,

With your superfluous lower lip protruding,

Like the petal of a rose,

Damaged by morning dew.


Your eyes wondered,

Like glass marbles, pouring

Distain into all you knew.


Like a diamond in the rough,

You were there among the grey,

Shaped into nothing but Solemness.


A Solemner.


Lost in the morning,

Of heavy tides and and matchstick lives,

Disappearing completely.


Those eyes, those cheeks,

That imploring gaze,

Made me no Solemner

Then a man could be.


Such beauty,

Pittance,

Wasted through the day,

As it seeps through the drain,

Like water.

Down it falls,

Never to be seen again.


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Waiting the Train

 

The hours at the station do not pass.

The rust covers the clock.

The delay of the train freezes up in time.

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The Train (For Javelin)

Folder: 
2003

A confidante a teacher

A lover a friend

All this and more

And now it has to end

 

You’re catchin’ a train

Goin’ away for good

Leavin’ me cryin’

Anyone else would

 

Tears drip off my cheeks

Hitting earth harder than rain

You tell me you love me

And step on that train

 

Leavin’ us all forever

An’ never comin’ back

Stay here please

Cut me some slack

 

I want you, I need you

As we all do

But no matter where you go

I will always love you

 

~Chrystal Swallows

Written on

October 29, 2003

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This was another one written to Javelin. Come to find out, he did't 'go away.'

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RAPE.

 

RAPE. 

   Third attempt to write about it

And all I ever get too is the unzip part!

Trap of the honey sucker,

His bed made of semen petals!

 

I don’t look or care for excuses,

Yes I was young, so what !

Should I have known better?

When his fingers stroked my skin?

And his words twisted it my mind?

 

Hidden face of innocence can be so ugly!

I almost forget him, forgive? Who…

Before he did the deed it left on me!

one has to be violated it, my best tattoo.

 

It seems like the wind was slapping my ass,

When his fifthly hands caressed it my hair.

His sickly voice trying to hypnotised my drunken soul,

And felt my clothles being removed away!

 

What was the big deal? those crimes happen every days,

I was seventeen, I was no kid,

Oh sure, It took long before I took the knive

And kill my ego used and abused!

 

Paris, city of the lovers,

Not so sure by the hot poker,

I scream enough for him to give me back my serenity,

By then it was too late!

 

The man, used a soap to seat on his new trophy,

And if I felt hate, my manhood was hard,

And let him steals my innocence,

Today, I feel nothing, no an inches of hate!

 

They say rape is a taboo subject,

I say, taboo is the silence that followed it!

I have no more time for secrets,

We all, know secret kills!

 

It could have been someone else,

Today, I barely remember his face,

More the details of his room,

The pimp of the voice whispering me,

 

How beautiful, I was,

The lies and the burning soap,

Burning my inside while he took his pleasure,

And felt to sleep like a child.

 

As I was told youth is wasted on the youngsters!

Woke up naked my mind still fills with blurry flashbacks,

Of what he had done to me,

looking at him sleeping peacefully.

 

The kid turned to a man,

And shook him, realising his clothes had vanished!

He could barely spoke and order me to go back to bed,

The front door was locked or was it my sanity?

 

I was a naked trap animal,

There was only one last exit,

I open the window,

And stood on the balcony.

 

I scream for my life,

He watched me like some frantic creature,

But he knew the look in my eyes,

Was ready to do the jump!

 

He crawled of the bed of his sin,

And took a key of his pocket,

Through my attire at me

And I run half naked in the streets of romantic Paris.

 

There is neither moral or regrets,

I find my way to the train station,

And once more time as I had did thousand of time the night before,

I check my pocket, where I had not find any money or my return ticket.

 

As my hand plunge one more time in my jacket pocket,

I felt something I had look all night,

My hands retrieved the train ticket,

Was I a joke of the devil?

 

And all I could sense was the remains,

The burning sensation inside me,

Soap are made to wash hands,

Train ticket to leave, Strangers to avoid

As meaningless to day the word rape has become.

 

Sweet seventy, face of an angel

Easy prey, half sober,

Wondering the streets of Paris,

Funny, I still always check my pockets to these days!

 

 

                    COPYRIGHT@H.NAUDET.2010.

Author's Notes/Comments: 
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