03-03-2014, 11:19 AM
a genuine train of thought poem
not sure the cunt works or the last line as it's written.
in places you have some decent rhymes going on (almost train-like) and then the rhythm falls apart specially in the last stanza. overall the meter feels to work but there are odd places it skips or jumps a little.
other cunt and the last line, i quite liked it. (normally it's a great word that can be used for many purposes, i just don't think that was one of them)
thanks for the read.
not sure the cunt works or the last line as it's written.
in places you have some decent rhymes going on (almost train-like) and then the rhythm falls apart specially in the last stanza. overall the meter feels to work but there are odd places it skips or jumps a little.
other cunt and the last line, i quite liked it. (normally it's a great word that can be used for many purposes, i just don't think that was one of them)
thanks for the read.
(03-02-2014, 05:53 AM)Mad Matt Wrote: To stop the train pull the chain
To stop all this would be insane
On a train a mile long
Seated with the writhing throng
Buying Teas for six rupees
From elderly wallahs with gammy knees
Filled with workers from Mangalore
Heading home to get married to the girl next door
There is some dirt the fans don’t work
Under the seats mice may lurk
The seats are dirty and some have stains
But at least it's better than Virgin trains this pulled a small laugh from me.
Before my eyes India flies
Every mile a new surprise
Rhythmic rails clitter and clatter
Hiding the noise of Hindi chatter
Through Adavali and Kirimkali
Through dusty plain and fertile valley
An elderly lady nicks my seat
So I pass the journey stood on me feet
Past mountain side and rivers wide
Through India’s beauty we gracefully glide
At jungle junctions we sit and wait
For the on coming train that’s running late
Through fields of maze under golden rays
Where people work and children plays
I hang out the door feeling brave
And return the compliment of a workers wave
The rhythm begins to slow as we as we approach our station
The last one I’ll see in this amazing beguiling nation
Into a cavernous cathedral like cunt we finally enter this line feels utterly wrong,
In far Bombay’s mysterious throbbing centre
Journey’s end, travel over, I am here
To head on home with, in my eyes, a tear but not as wrong as this yodarish line
