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Guided from above
I came filled with fear
I did not move to the city for love
But that is why God brought me here

I lived with dreams in my heart
I came broken and torn apart

To Virginia I said my good-byes
And carried fire in my eyes
Though the years had taken their toll
Wings still embraced my soul

I was a woodland creature in a world of chaos
Launched into another ethos
God picked up needle and thread to sow
They called it Chicago
And here God mended my hole
Juhlhaus 12h
A sidewalk canvas
Half done slush
An oil slick
Twice frozen ice
And boots that slip
A train just missed
The red eyes glare
Rain that floats
In bitter air
Brutalized concrete
Bleeding rust
Filthy floors
And alley walls
Spent cigarettes
In every nook
Steel that shrieks
In cold protest
Blue lights
And a defiant poet
On every corner
An inventory of materials.
ls 14h
The soil where I am supposed to grow
Can be found deep under concrete
Under layers of dirt and steel
Sheltered from the sun under skylines of glass
The fertile earth lays not at the surface
But saturated far below
That is where I will be planted
When I can find the strength to dig so deep
And I will root myself in place
And burrow back up through the earth
Breaking through cracks in the sidewalk
A tiny sprout of life that will flourish
Into a seemingly beautiful accident
And become too striking and too mighty
To destroy
The natural phenomenon among skyscrapers
On a misty city morning
Still resolved to early rising
I came upon a heap of corpses

They were child sacrifices
Made to satisfy the fancy
Of Christian Capitalist and Pagan
And a jolly old fat man
Who lives at the North Pole

They might have been

Growing tall
In a field or on a hill
Drinking sunlight
Breathing love songs
In answer to caress of wind

But the quiet young pines
Didn't seem to mind
Their broken bodies one last gift
Filling my chest with fragrant air
And longings
For fields and hills
On a misty city morning
this is a city of pain
buried under sunrises and sunsets
but not forgotten in its heart

dawn casts a light on the cross across the rocks
while lady peace illuminates on her own in the night
bright yellow flowers lie at the foot of stones
and a peaceful shine graces the water surface

paint a dark red on the history book
but it continues on with its telling
written on 14 nov 2018 upon visiting the Nanjing Massacre Museum in Nanjing. China
She's high fashion on a budget,
capturing the world from her own angles.
Watercolor stains on anything she touches,
but vibrancy is not for her.

Her voice is heavy duty paper,
and something about her seems littered in floral,
But she is too industrial for that to make sense,
as the city breaths her in and out.
Sipping the air of a city night
So heady in the cold
On the move under static lights
Little worlds about
To collide

Gravity frivolity
Draw broken hearts like earth bound stars
As the pull of every
Small storied point holds others back
From abysses beneath
Dark waters

Lone souls each
And all compose this Metropolis
Joy is to be
Discovered in insignificance
Where together
We belong
Three poets walked into a bar. These are some thoughts that emerged.
In this loveless city
so far from her Mum and Dad,
her face was so pretty
it almost made me sad.
Juhlhaus Jan 15
I hurried out at six fifteen to wait
For a train with a waning moon,
Bright Venus and Jupiter hovering
Above the skyline. The amber horizon
Turned to orange and pink
As scattered stars went dim.

Misread the schedule and arrived
Downtown three quarters of an hour
Before my Electric District connection.
An accidental gift to self. I ascended
And ate two breakfast sandwiches
I got for one dollar with a coupon,
Warm in my hands on a blue picnic table.

The sky grew light
Above the Lake and I wandered
Through Millennium Park. It was empty
Or nearly, which felt the same.
The sun broke the bent horizon
In chrome and ice. I took some pictures,
Then descended to find Track Five.

The day's light revealed
Hollow houses with cartoon stone applied
Like paint, unable to compete
For preeminence with two-car garages.
The newest were bigger and offered
In different colors, but all the same.
Driving conditions were excellent.

At sunset I stood on another platform
Above a busy highway. The last rays came
Through tree branches and melted
Into the pale sky as they left my face.
I had witnessed that sun's birth,
It had warmed me while I waited for my carpool,
Rested with me on a concrete planter after lunch.

I entered the city in darkness
A second time. Changed muddy boots
For clean shoes and hurried to the museum.
It was a free night, overcrowded
With families and children, so difficult
To find a quiet corner for contemplation,
Any sanctuary for my own small soul.

I descended, discovered the typewriters, then
Realized you and I were already there, just
In different colors, using different words,
Spending school vacation to view old paintings
And the Holiday Miniature Rooms.
It dawned and the future was brighter even
As I left the city in darkness.
For a wonderful fellow poet who reminds me that a seemingly ordinary day is really anything but.
Brooke White Jan 12
Right off of the 7 train,
Irish Catholic schoolgirls spilling
out of Jahn's like marbles
Their plaid skirts against exposed brick
bellies full of kitchen sink

The produce stand next door
eggs .60 a dozen, milk one dollar
Now converted into a bodega
or maybe even a small
Muslim prayer room

I bought my first Zeppelin album
at a record store on 82nd
The brown paper bags, thin as bible pages
It spun on the turntable in my
parents' Tudor

The yellowing wallpaper smelled of
my mom's Virginia Slims
And sounded of my dad's Vermouth
His own liver fried
with onions, just as he liked it
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