St Pancras lifts
its red brick above the rails,
morning light slithering
like a spine along the arches
as travellers eddy in loose currents
toward platforms breathing warm air.
A name rolls through the hall—
PANK‑rəs—
and in the drift of bodies
another sound shivers beside it,
PANK‑ree‑əs,
one note striking the tiles sharp and bright,
the other dragging low through the crowd,
their clash flickering in the rafters
before thinning into the station’s breath.
Kreato‑ waits near the ticket gates,
unhurried,
its consonants scraping
faint lines through the air,
vowels looping after them in slow curls,
the whole shape clinging to the gate rail
like tangled ivy grown there overnight,
standing beside create
only because the letters
happen to share a coat.
Announcements crack overhead
like distant signals,
footsteps scatter across the concourse,
and the paired syllables drift away—
one toward anatomy,
one toward trains—
until a warm scent rises
through the churn of steam,
tracing a departed train’s path,
sweet as a held breath.
A pan on the griddle—
each flap a fleeting platform,
batter rising like a paused announcement.
Pancakes!
.
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Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: December 27th, 2025 05:12
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 8
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments5
A strange pairing. A she wolf that adopts a child. Romulus and Remus legendary founders of Rome, Here the mere near homophone easily distorted takes one down two paths one of rails and another of flesh and blood, the rails carry the flesh and blood that created it. In this poem the station and train are personified breathing and lifting the other sends travelers too through ducts and vessels in a body. A related image where mixed like batter they become pancakes. Such a strange mixture in mistaken ingredients in words as well as materials that often make a mistaken item. Excuse my rambling mind Cryptic it too mistakes the meaning in words and poem and comes up with pancakes
Thanks for sharing that excellent journey, Soren 🙏🏻🕊️
Most welcome Crdyptic
arqios, this is clever without being clever-for-its-own-sake. You let place, sound, and appetite mingle until the poem becomes both linguistic play and sensory experience. It’s light on its feet, attentive, and quietly joyful. Loved it, dearest friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
As is your comment in response; part review, part critique. Totally enjoyable and wholesome🙏🏻🕊️
Why thank you! I try! 😜 Again, great poem!
Did ya pop over to us in the UK via Eurostar train?! (St Pancras). I will pop over to see ya. I'm checking if the No.7 bus here goes to Australia. lol.
Alas, the Breakfast Club shan’t experience my famished pallet this year. Perhaps next? 🙏🏻🕊️
200 years ago last September; the very first Passenger Train pulled out of my home town -Shildon- on its way to Darlington then Stockton.
'The Locomotion' built by George Stephenson.
I often walk along the Path by the original route which is still used. Whenever I see a Train anywhere in the World I think : It all started right here. Enjoyed your Poam. To think St Pancras was to be Demolished until John Betjeman stepped in.
Only too glad that vestiges of the past are still around, thanks Kevin🕊️🙏🏻
St Pancras here I come for the Pancakes Rik.
Andy
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