Speeding and roving light captured off the Chicago transit line.

 
 

Visual Poetry:



 
 Commute 

 by Cody Ryan Tippie 

 
 A web of winding rails,

interconnected they mind and weave.

Chancing distance afar cut short,

to commuters time and pace reprieved. 

 
 Of ease to traffics delight;

burden lessened of constructions millwright.

Fortuited cityscapes design overhauled;

to the release of stalled traffic appalled. 

 
 A stop afore; a platform change be it so;

dusked, dirted, stank, and rusted,

lay serviceable amenities in need of grow. 

 
 Persons of all walks standby to catch a ride;

from the disheveled homeless keep,

to the still morning drunken bar peep,

the stunning, but eclectic city thriver,

to the well-made suited office diver,

yet it be to the traveler skimming crown,

or the drugged despot stumbling round;

for mind of manner,

is thus skyway a diverse ubersetzer,

or translator from that of city to town. 

 
 Brown, Pink, Blue, Green, Red, Orange, Purple,

and Black run the lines thick and through; at intervals

unforgiving only frustration, worry, or anxiety might rue. 

 
 Albeit one of these lines is missing,

be it not present; nor exist it not at all.

For what should be the lies of the many;

shrouded within cages of pultrid walls. 

 
 Alas, long a’fore may I have read the station map a’rore,

mistaken be it were to relations that may n’ere have existed yet before.

A few minutes spat;

yet a carriage car arrives of late,

those waiting dashing and running,

to catch a place to sit of din from date. 

 
 Oh be the short commute underway;

of lights flicker and flutter zizzling by,

for lightscapade of the rushing boroughs,

washes away fraughted fret,

from daily endeavors to live or survive.

Commute

Forest Moonlit Visage

a Yellow submarine and rusted crossbeamed mauer with figured depictions.

Submersion

Bouldered blithe and rusted yeats of calvaried and dually crossed rebarded rubble.

Artisan

Staked tierod off a Chicago city transit line; with diminuitive figured denisens of stone and the chained or tethered fox.

Stake

A multiple photographic image compilation resulting in a Viking Longship and imagery associative of the Titanic sailing outwards of different directions.

 
 Visual Poetry: 

 
 die Vikinger Krieger und Titanic bei Nacht 

 by Cody Ryan Tippie 

 
 Moonlight drafted of a midnight sconce;

dark and dreary on a sea flowed forth,

cold water hafted of winded early hour chills. 

 
 A night watch officer stands abrest;

of a battleships lone,

but quietly guarded pilot deck. 

 
 Scanning, searching, eyes darting;

from waters edge to pitch black silhouette.

Reveals and revels tricks upon the eyes;

of tired hours slumber do lids flicker and rise. 

 
 A historical visage of ner once saw,

of therein never told nor never sought. 

 
 Ghosts of time,

vestiges of long lost crew;

haunt the dark waters in search of life anew. 

 
 Officer attempts to blink away the mire;

for certain such can’t be real,

he’s only tired. 

 
 A Vikinger Krieger sails into sight onward by,

spirited Captain’s arm held ‘aloft ner ‘ahigh;

urging direction of crew to mount and oar,

rowing therein to waters none treaded ‘afore. 

 
 Wrought horn in the distance,

yet startles shockingly,

but stutters awake. 

 
 Be it yet of carved bone from laid sight,

or to that of auditory mistake? 

 
 Nigh never is but an airhorn,

that bellows and rakes.

Disrupting of that to unearthly stillness,

on dead waters of unbroken slate. 

 
 Arriving yet into sight slipping of fog,

just as clashed to conscious must be;

lay a mottled rusted steamship,

of early 1900s Olympic at sea. 

 
 Stunted of disbelief at a sight so tall;

majestic of times to be held in awe,

when grandiose of sheer size mattered all. 

 
 An intentioned shake of the head;

to senses of which to waken,

but yet startle and throw;

Officer therein tranced of visions,

none would dare know. 

 
 Quick of a sudden,

attention is shattered;

thrust back to reality,

that of which calmed serenity

at hand would utmost tatter. 

 
 Drawn back from a voice,

thrown over shoulder and clattered.

Tis’ the middle watch “Sir”,

best be in inside for a chap of Coffee,

and the logs update of hatter. 

 
 Seen anything “Sir”,

asks the replacement leftenant;

“Nah” ner answered,

be it something,

be it simply the untethered mind at play,

to nights lone,

dark denisensed expanse of seaworth’s way.

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Cody Ryan Tippie