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A cross section of humanity
lends itself to prose in gross
here, in the airport, sanity
has given up, the ghost

Jesus just walked by
followed by a femme fatale
a lady on her way back home
and a guy they just call, Al

A miasmic gathering of souls
crossections of the human race
to see and/or behold
in or outer, space

Ethnicity oblivious
no one black and no one white
moving through the airport
all are odd, or strange

And every one
No one throws out slurs
they go from place too place
it doesn't really matter
the color of
As dues
daze a
coup and
behind you
a glory
day here
does find
you but
found you
but a
heel by
an exchange
of a
pie to
wish hours
here whoosh
a car
Samuel Canerday Dec 2018
I sit quietly in terminal B11
My flight doesn't leave til' seven
But there's plenty to see here
In this waiting room before the air
The flying alone does not scare me
But the crowds give me anxiety
So I watch, and I wait, all alone
Praying to catch the next flight home
onlylovepoetry Nov 2017
(the gate is a crowded mess, please no special requests, be thankful you got a seat, this flight is sold out and I’m beat.  
I get up and stand on my chair and say)

I give thanks for:

the uncommon greatness of common sense

for the steady approach of that wondrous day when
kindness is neither random or unexpected,
but the rule, not the exception

for our opinions and deeds, that are our own,
derived without coercion, born from our thoughts and observations and that
we are equal to both
owning them and to
changing them

that we live in a time that friendships can grow just through the quick exchange of words leaping bounds

for eyes that see deep deeper than skin,
ears that hear
what those ashamed wish you didn’t, hands that grasp regardless of distance,
the taste of  kisses that come easy sweet  

for the  day when I at last knew,
the pleasure of giving
so far exceeded receiving,
that giving and receiving became

that I learned that the best skill to possess  is
to anticipate
the needs of others

that my lucky position in this world permits me
to act on the things for
which I am thankful

that someday I will need no longer inquire,
are you my poem,
for the answer will be self-evident to us both
LGA 11/22/17 1:00pm
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
about all the human warmth
on this celebrated evening,
holy night

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
duang fu Aug 2018
today we talk of
romanticised cities of drug addicts
wistful car rides to the airport's departure hall
and letting go of concepts,
constructs that can't last forever.

san francisco & the boy,
i'm thinking perhaps they could be similar
live it all out through pictures
but how much do you truly know?
read into the rows of tiny houses
lining the roads sheltered by round trees
the lopsided american flag
hanging from the banister
the misty day still has golden sunshine
upon beige bricks and tinted windows,
the boy is off in early morning
to great adventure beyond this city
a city that can't hold him or his dreams
set foot into treacherous unknown
but perhaps he isn't as alone as he seems,
the golden sunshine follows him around
and he'll learn to dance
in its golden pool on paved tarmac.

i'm thinking san francisco & the boy,
daydreaming a story while in a faraway city
that's a far cry from san francisco & the boy
and from that i learn how
to tap my feet to the beat of the raindrops
and to twirl on my toes in radiant sunshine.

i'm thinking me, then san francisco & the boy.
moonchild - hideaway
26 august 2018, 7.47pm
Blade Maiden Jul 2018
So, how's it going?
Did you end up in those arms you kept talking about?
Did she see you on the airport all jet-lagged,
all baffled, standing in the passenger area, jam-packed.
So, you didn't know?
She was lying on the runway, waiting for you.
Her heart pre-packed,
ready to get hijacked.
The differences between you and her,
7 hours to **** the time,
5092 miles away, still committed a crime.
June 3rd marks the day,
on which the newspaper says nothing,
cause nothing ever happened, you just went away.
So, what about your dreams?
She kept them for you, tucked away in a suitcase,
ready to run off with you in plain sight,
but your plane never reached this side.
You never even took off to be exact,
guess your bag wasn't intact,
and matter of fact,
I think honest will is what it lacked.
So, whatever, right?
It's not like,
it's all pointless anyway.
That's what you'd say.
Doesn't matter that it meant a whole lot,
she might spend 7 hours more to untangle the knot,
and has to walk 5092 miles to get back the full heart she got,
before she met a stranger who spoke of her arms,
and made her built an airport inside of her palms.

So, how's it going?...
Passang Sherpa Jul 2018
Some are running,
some in panic,
finding platforms
and gates.

Some on visits,
some on tour,
with families,
officials or mates.

Some at the enquiry,
first timers in confusion,
asking for directions.

Some shopping,
gifts and mementoes,
some at the phone
charging locations.

It seems a place
that never goes to sleep,
and never rests a while

Reaching people
to destinations,
near or across
thousands of mile.

The announcement
above echoes,
on every notifications
and details.

They leave no stones unturned,
the crew and the members
of all Airways.

Copyright © PS
nawke Jun 2018
What would he live for
if not for the letter to the customer
that he's forwarding the quote to
for a happy client is a happy profit
that he brings home for bacon
is he less of a father if there is not
a duty to perform for his family
is life meaningless if he didn’t work it?

what would a student live for
if not for the exams she's to ace
reading papers on her own volition
for quaint mathematical equation
that she may bring home a graduate  
is she less of a daughter if there is
no honors returned to her parents
is life meaningless if she didn’t learn it?

what would the couple live for
if not for the dreams they’d backpack
into future unknown as flights await
to enchanting a relationship
that brings rejuvenation to ruts
are they less of a couple if there is no
time away from the humdrum
is life meaningless if they didn’t travel it?

what would the barista live for
if not for making beans behind counter
to *** customers delighted by beverage
for which he is paid a salary to stamp his
tuition by an overworked single mom  
is he less of a barista if there is no
fees and books he’s to strive hard for  
is life less meaningful if he didn’t brew it?

what would a baby live for
if not for mommy’s milk bottles, hugs
kisses and adults’ gazes to nurture them
to crawl, walk, jump, hop scotch and cycle
to witness a blossoming  into full adolescent
is the baby less of a child if there are no
9 months to cross and milestones to check off
is life meaningless if it didn’t grow into it?
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