New York City
Learn more about other poetry terms
the swipe of the yellow card blurs
the transition between the outside to the underneath
yellow lines separate commuters
from the slick metal torpedoes they await
before I moved to new york,
I thought I was too ugly to be catcalled
now reassurance comes pouring in
I walk to get my coffee, 3 blocks away
Dawn breaks
And the Hudson is clear
Two colonels, two pistols
And two hearts beat with fear
Despite this fact,
I see the misty skyline
of a dirty city
in the distance and i think
what would you appreciate
about this scene?
which aspect would you absolutely adore?
and which would you wholly abhor?
I see people everyday in New York.
Each and everyone one of them has a story.
Business suits rushing to get to a meeting.
Construction workers drilling away.
Cross guards whistling away.
I see people everyday in New York.
Each and everyone one of them has a story.
Business suits rushing to get to a meeting.
Construction workers drilling away.
Cross guards whistling away.
Blaring horns
The booming sound of voices around me
Foreign words, unfamiliar faces
Towering architecture
rendering me anonymous
There’s this blog
Called Humans of New York
Created by a photographer
Who walks through New York City
Stopping people on the street,
Remember those nights.
Fire escapes and city lights.
Unmade beds and endless talks.
Counting the stars and throwing rocks.
Running around busy streets.
Wind in our hair and shoes on our feet.
New York; your streets have treated me quite well,
And even in the darkest nights or rain,
And even more in love with you I fell,
So now my heart will never be the same.
They're too fast
They speak of things I don't understand
Their lips are quick but their minds are slow here
I would rather be there
Here the harrowing hardships are fast
Not slow enough to listen
The air is cool and inviting The mosquitoes suck at my succulent skin Rejoicing at the soft and limber limbs I possess Streetlights illuminate my smile As I witness a young child snoozing in a stroller
New York,
You're a strange place.
Filled with some that fit in and some that don't
With some that fit in because they don't
Some who make it, and some that won't
Central Park broke my Heart and the Taxi Driver shot me.
Washington Square had poisoned Air and the musicians coughed and spit.
Carnegie Hall dropped the Ball on this New Years Eve,
To end the smiles, end the week,
Ring! Ring! -Goes my alarm as I jump out of bed,
Oh go the ache, what is with my head.
Thud. Thud. -Go my feet on the floor,
Should I wear this, or?
Splash~ Splash~ -The water on my face,
I come from the city that never sleeps,
NYC,
city where gentrification stimulates broken dreams,
but evidently it's not as awful as it seems,
New York is the city of screaming nights,
The city of dreams and blinding lights,
Of taxicabs and honking horns,
Where some dreams die, and some are born.
New York is colorful and alive.
New York
The Big Apple
Largest city in America
She has welcomed many
Many in need
Many who wanted to start over.
This amazing city
A year ago, I stood at the edge of a cliff
A steep drop-off to the unknown.
I did not know
if I jumped off the edge
I would discover I was able to fly.
i didn't start this year at a park late at night, shouting rebellion and revolution, not this time. no, i started this year in an illegal 2002 honda civic without brakes, skidding through red lights & stop signs in downtown portland.
Procrastination became the beginning to my inspiration.
A journey debating if fashion was actually my passion.
Outspoken, Powerful, and Fighter for my desires.
Confidence, and drive developed in such little time.
stained glass windows
the feelings i have for this city are those that i struggle to put into words
calm rainy mornings and the way the rain sticks to the car window
A busy city with busy peopleWith dreams and aspirations crammed into 22 sq. milesThe restless hustle and blaring horns People looking for a life reborn
Bright lights, cameras flashing, tourists smiling.
Walk down one street and you get some of the best shopping in the world,
Look down
neat squares of concrete march past
straight corners and perfect lines
Look ahead
glazed eyes move with measured pace
fresh minds and stale thoughts
Look up
Left my mark on hundreds of places,
But it’s not my feet who touch the ground.
It’s not that I haven’t gotten around,
Yet I wish I’ve felt the tracks I’ve landed,
Or the influences I’ve made.
I entered the city
Well aware of all it had to give
But not what it would take
We all go in with dreams
And along the way we make a friend
Meet others
Find lovers
Walk to island's end
A day. 24 hours. 1,440 minutes. 84,600 seconds.
So many things can change. shift. evolve. dissolve. resolve.
Revolve around useless emotions and empty words.
Who you were at 8am is not who you are at 8pm.
Birthed by summer water pumping from fire hydrants - as we drown each other in laughter but that was before firefighters burnt down our banter with their wrench.
At this time of the night it’s supposed to be dark,
But I see the sky of the city that never sleeps spark.
Streets brightened by colorful flashes,
Unfulfilled dreams burn down to ashes.
The Crossroads of the World
I stand in the center where the four crossroads of the world meet.
I look up as the late night darkness settles in, but not in this city, we never sleep.
Burning ashes fall upon my shoulders,
and screaming bodies run.
I look through the blur of faces,
and don't know what can be done.
