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Chase Graham Sep 2018
There's an eight wheeler,
with ice cold vapor
wisping upward and out toward
St. Mark's street walkers,
crust punks, do they think
of the frozen fish
and chilled shrimps
un-delicately
unloaded
delivered
to the subterranean
Japanese market
I purchase tempura from,
probably not. This scene
is written, it seems,
for me,
my glassy eyes,
a wandering stare
toward a banal
spectacle
displayed and private.
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2015
Time: 7:30 pm
Temp.: 68F

~~~
overlooking the runways,
festooned by
accidental heavenly whimsy,
or humanistic whimsical inten-sity,
all the the planes and trucks are flashing
electrifying speckles, of eclectically synced
red and green

it is not my holiday,
but no matter,
like every New Yorker this day,
I am happily celebrating its
double U,
unique, unusual

"record breaking warmth"

yes, the Fahrenheit is outtasight, and by the dawn of
early eve~night,
the Centigrade is spiraling in reverse retrograde,
as the temp eases on down, just below seventy degrees,
on this dewinterized twenty fourth day of
December, two nought and fifteen

traffic is light, the terminal, an unbusy, slim shadow of itself,
the maddening crowds gone, now all are among
the dearly departed and either/or, the newly arrived

so composition of the observational, brings cheer and smiles to my faith,
(I mean my face),
the crowning quietude of clear skies, the absence of street smart
city  bustle and hustle,
the languid atmosphere at the gates,
(where seldom is heard an encouraging word)#
makes me reconsider the true meaning of
the au courant phraseology of this day

"record breaking warmth"

for there is indeed
a calm invisible warmth suffusing all tonite,
chests glowing from fireplaces within,
contentment chamber containers in both hearth and heart,
and I am thinking
miracle,
about all the human warmth
on this celebrated evening,
holy night

indeed,
it is breaking records of
recorded human fusion,
the united commonality of millions warming
his and her stories world-over,
that your personal poet is
warming to record
# but not tonight, as I am
unbelievably,
upgraded!
Tim S Sep 2018
The quiet station
Your lips were poised to meet mine.
I hesitated.
Can't remember who this is about. Clearly, I didn't follow through.
Sky Jul 2018
everything hurts

the throbbing in my chest is from
the city i loved,
the city i swallowed

the pounding in my veins is from
the race against the very crowd
i spilled myself into

the numbness of my mind is from
the ticking clock and tapping heel
and murmuring and pulsating,

the living, breathing, and the dying
all tapping their watches in perfect
unison, like everything you've ever seen
and more

...

the taka taka tak of the train,
is jagged against my sides

i keel over at the altar as the
train approaches the station

and still,
thank God!

everything hurts

i must still be alive
a whole mood
Harry Kelly Jul 2018
So often
Going through the day
Minding my own business
and people feel the need to intrude.

Smoking outside my building
Just want silence
One of the local talkies comes over
Going on and on
Sciatica pain he says
On and on
and on and on

“Probably emotional” I tell him
He did not like that
Most people don’t
When you suggest there is something
more going on
Than they are willing to face.

But I have decided
If they want to intrude
on my solitude
I don’t have to chew it.
Jenny Jul 2018
nyc
the skyline is a piece of thread stretching
from one end of the horizon to the other,
the lights from inhaling buildings
provide sporadic constellations,
like the night sky above the sleepless streets.
Harry Kelly Jul 2018
I saw a seagull today with a broken wing.
He was walking down Bleecker Street.
I never saw a bird move so fast on his feet.
He was really haulin’ ***.
I smiled to myself.
And I swear he looked right at me and smiled back.
It made me realize
Sometimes, you just have to make the best
out of what you’ve got.
Harry Kelly May 2018
Friend.
I went by your old place on West 26th Street
Your name was no longer on the buzzer.  I pushed it anyway.
When an Asian woman answered  I knew you were gone.
Nobody coming out of the building seemed to remember you
Just goes to show.

I went by the old diner at which we used to eat
Same handwritten signs, same menus
Same old tables.
But no you.

I found it strange that the waitress remembered me but couldn't remember
The guy who'd been going there for decades.
Maybe I should have brought a photo
To spark her memory
Maybe I should have reached out to you,
Bitten the bullet and swallowed my pride
Because now the fight seems trivial
Its the rest of the stuff that seems important,

All the good stuff we shared.

People used to sew patches on old jeans and put new soles
on favorite shoes.
Modern life has changed.  We throw things out and buy new.
But some things are irreplaceable.
They are worth the effort a repair would require.
Friend.
My friend.
Harry Kelly Jun 2018
I remember.
Walking with you on West End Avenue.
Laughing and Laughing.
We used to go into the drug stores and try different eye creams Attempting to conceal the fatigue that comes from staying up
for days on end.

Partying
Man, did we party.

And I remember.
The different creatures we would run into
along the way.
Creatures of the night.
Mostly emotionally disturbed characters.
Running from life or running from themselves.
Some real crazies.

You remained my good friend.
A reliable person.  Something rare in life.
We would talk about the mistakes we made
and the good choices as well.
Careful never to beat ourselves up too badly.
Because sometimes, it’s hard to make the right choices.
And it’s better to laugh when you mess up.
It’s better to laugh if you can.
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