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This is one lonely road,
A gray place with no fond memories.

Yet still, a place I know very well,
The broken stones have stories to tell.

This is one dreary path,
A broken face with no kindness left.

Yet, this is where the good men are buried,
When they fade from light and die.
Rochester has many lonely roads, I've walked too many to count.
In Rome,
There is silence.
Church bells lay still,
Once grand city,
Echoing the trills of black birds.
Their song, a lost cry of those who died.
In the deathly silence,
Of the plague.
When man was almost lost, to nothing but silence on the wind.
MetaVerse Feb 26
There was an Old Person of Crete
Who walked on the ***** of his feet;
When they asked why it was, he responded, "Because,"
That taciturn Person of Crete.

There was an Old Person of Finland
Whose cabin was upland and inland;
He lived in a region where fish spoke Norwegian,
That flapperous Person of Finland.

There was an Old Man of Geneva
Who had an encounter with Shiva;
They patty-cake played in a hornet-loud glade,
Shiva and the Man of Geneva.

There was a Young Lady of Paris
Whom ****** couldn't embarrass;
She wandered the city with ***** and *****
Exposed to the city of Paris.

There was an Old Husband of Arles
Whose wife had a passion for quarrels;
All day and all night she'd invite him to fight,
That exhausted Old Husband of Arles.

There was an Old Man of Kyoto
Who mastered supremely the koto;
His tea was the greenest, his dragon the meanest,
His koto the best in Kyoto.

There was an Old Man of Algiers
Who listened with elephant ears
To streams and to trees and to birds and to bees
That delighted the Man of Algiers.

There was a Young Lady of Arles
Who married a ****** named Charles;
When they asked, "Does it fit?" she replied, "Not a bit!"
That unsatisfied Lady of Arles.

There was an Old Man with a beard
Whose ****** expressions were weird;
He'd grimace when glad and he'd twinkle when sad,
That curious Old Man with a beard.

There was an Old Man
Of Japan
Whose limericks would never
Ever
Scan, that instupendious Old Man of Japan.
So many hotels and monuments,
Nobody looks anywhere but the statues in DC.
But as for me and you,
We look up.
To the stars,
Through the rain,
Far beyond.
I don't know a single soul,
That day dreams about seeing stars in DC.
Though, as for you and me,
We look up.
Beyond the veil of space,
Straight to the sparkling sky diamonds,
Flickering above this stone city.
The greatest vacation.
I fancy a spot of travel,
Gotta get around this green globe.
I've seen so many wonderful beautiful things,
The ruins of Rome, the remnants of Greece.
Though these are real swell,
Nothing compares just as well,
As the places I go when it's only you and me.
Always walking back to her
Zywa Feb 18
None of the protests

in the big cities are heard --


in the countryside.
Improvisation-composition "Aus den sieben Tagen" - 15 Textkompositionen für Intuitive Musik ("From the seven days" - 15 text compositions for Intuitive Music, 1968, Karlheinz Stockhausen), for ensemble; selection of 160 minutes, performed by Robin Rimbaud (electronics), Jakob Lekkerkerker (*****) and Gareth Davis (bass clarinet), Roland Dahinden (trombone), Dario Calderone (double bass), Pau Sola Masafrets (cello), Joao Brito (percussion), and Marketa Scaffartzek (voice) on January 19th, 2025 in the Organpark

Collection "org anp ARK" #63
Zywa Apr 2024
Cities put their faith

in citizens, villages --


put their faith in god.
Novel "The Moor's Last Sigh" (1995, Salman Rushdie), chapter A house divided, (1-) 4

Collection "Low gear"
(you sweet..  succulent,
                       tender  little ****..)



"I don't know what to keep
and what to throw away, Paul"


"All of it, young love..   none of it..
I mean wait..     what?"


"All's I'm saying  is..
I can finally see myself  in the
reflection, now that the mirror's
wiped clean. Problem is..  I can only
hold on to it for so long before it all
completely goes away again..

    the image of me, I mean"


"Ah. young Lovely..
the insurgent is embedded   far too
deeply  into the City  called,

'All of who it is that you are'
To engage it or try to take it out right now
is  going to create far too much
collateral damage"


"Then what am I to do..
how am I going to be able to hold on?"


"I have an idea, young love..
       Shhh..  listen--"


👀

https://youtu.be/7hiVIixor_Q




  "I have a  feeling
we're in Kansas anymore, Paul.."


****** right we're not, sweet one   :))
❤❤❤

xox
f Feb 2022
from my new york window,
i can see tall structures,
see snowfall upon green rust,
tiny ants move busily on jobs,
with their lives, missing rides,
all of this from a glass wall.

from my new york window,
i can find peace.
if it means staring at life moving,
playing a one-person game

is new york always this quiet at night,
the stars not shining as bright?
does their light not burn through dark stone?
or bring out the best in all?
new york, new york
where are you?
where are your wonderful parties?
where have you been?

from my new york window,
i can tell its faint outside
where are your constellations?
they used to move around your city
i miss when they were nebulas
just starting to explore the world
i was never like a ball of fire
so eager to be thriving
so ready to leave being an atom,
joining molecules, being compounds

new york, do you miss me?
do you remember our memories?
of us in the snow, looking above, making angels,
talking about how life would never be enough?
new york, don't you remember,
you and i being friends, singing together?
new york, you don't remember me
because i was never there,
i have never been to your magnificent city.
you are for all the big lights, the huge suns
i was never made to be a fireball,
never so much one to live a free life
new york, don't miss me
I'm not worthy of being so precious like your sky.
i never was, i never will.
new york, my best wishes to you,
don't forget me,
when you don't know me well.
in the third stanza, im talking about new york during the pandemic.
Norman Crane Aug 2021
sweet birdsong consumes
the bitterness of cities
a summer morning
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