City witch whispers to her radio
- It’s the only way she knows to request songs
- There’s magic in whispered words
- She always asks for the same song
- That one song

City witch talks to her radio
- Complains about how hard it is to sell witchcraft in a city
- People don’t instinctively know where city witches live
- Those village witches don’t know how easy they have it
- She asks about her cousin, they keep losing contact

City witch listens to her radio
- They play her song, that one song
- Her cousin calls in, she doesn’t know how to whisper to the radio
- Her mother does, she tells her it’s her fault for moving to the city
- Someone stops by her door asking for a spell

City witch whispers to her radio
- She keeps requesting that one song
- Her cousin keeps calling in, tells someone she’s doing fine
- Her mother keeps telling her to come back, but is ignored
- People keep stopping by her door

I am sitting in the heart of this tiny city
Watching the people as they pass by
Some in a hurry and some with leisure
Despite the slow rain that drips from the sky

Some walk with partners
Some sit alone
A man comes out of a store to run after a friend
Reunited, they shake hands

The fire truck sits with its lights flashing
I can see the reflection of blue and red
People sit at laptops in coffee shops
Working and playing, click click click

Shops and restaurants are lined up in a row
Open signs crooked and lights dimly lit
Waiting for business on a rainy day
While cars drive by, up and down

Inside there is chatter and the TV is on
There's a group playing cards
Voices rise and then fall, laughter floats above
My motivation low, which is why I wrote this

What a tiny place this is
Compared to the rest of this planet
We're living our lives with different faces
All in our own little corner of the world

A snapshot of my world in this moment

The aftermath of Great world wars,
Smoldering ruins of grand clocktowers,
Peppered with foreign bombs,
From different far off places,
Ghosts of war wander the wastes,
Searching for lost loves,
For homes no longer standing,
For places that scarcely resemble themselves,
From where lovers kissed and dreamed of far off places,
To the stores and homes of families,
Now turned into smoking rubble,
The remnants of our town,
The ruins of our memories,
Now echo through the empty streets,
Reminding us of a time,
When the city was alive.

I think I’m going to see you
everywhere that I go,

because my brain is already
picturing your hands
on the window shop mannequins
I’m passing by on this city street

and I begin to wonder if they are a perfectly delicate match to mine
when held up in comparison

so you placed your right thumb
on top of my left
and we found two similar beauty marks
mirroring with each other

maybe it shows the pinpoint
of where we met in another life

she scratches her back,
marking territory on translucent skin
they are of the same opacity -
as if upon meeting they scanned each other’s bones
to ensure strength
one has a way of smiling
where her lips pull against her gums
and the other has the tendency
to flip the pillow to the cold side before sleeping
they are never not entwined
they never had to get used to
two sets of bras in the dryer,
a hairbrush constantly covered with
each other’s blonde hair,
never using the condoms in their jewelry boxes
it was easy
is easy
when one asked the other
for a matching tattoo,
she put her partner’s initials on the soles of her feet

the birthday party was in full swing by mid-afternoon
no one in the party had hair any lighter than charcoal
and the birthday girl was four, wearing only one shoe
all the women were clad in floral bikinis;
the ripples of their stretched skin on full display
in this circle, they honed their cultural energy
with coconut water and bongo drums
the guest of honour was passed out within an hour,
but they had come all this way
and wanted to make the most of it

the night before she had found herself
entwined with a bodybuilder ten years her senior
she turned her hands over and over,
checking for signs that she had changed
but as the dog licked the inside of her legs
she was at peace with the fact that she always
belonged in a stranger’s bed
he said she felt good
and pressed welts passionately onto her ass
he wanted to take her sailing on the lake the following day
but she preferred to sit on a man-made sugared beach alone

So many kinds of colors here,
Upon the signs and breezing hair,
In cities 'round the nightly world,
Presenting bright the midnight air.

Characters on the signs, pretty,
Characters in the bright city
Do shine so sprightly for the world,
With charm, with joy, with love and glee.

Who talks about the sun at night,
When there is shining fun at night?

The couplet is intended to be the refrain.

as the man slowly took the roll from his lips, letting the smoke drift into the lights. still his breath produced puffs as it touched the night air. he watched the cold mix with the warmth of the smoke, dissipating and dancing it the sharp, chilling wind. to the stars his eyes did carry to the yellow sky above, the hot stump between his fingers began to burn now on his skin 'til he smelt the putrid smell coming from his numbed hand below. and with that smell and the city lights and the smoke that rose above he realized something he never before had from the loud streets and yelling cabs. that the world wasn't all that beautiful, he thought with tearful eyes, the pretty was wearing off, and the sky above that he used to love was absent of all stars

Eleni 6d

It was a normal day-
I went for a coffee at the Jazz Café.

And out through the soaked windows
I saw a malign, wanton city
Vehicles perishing the streets
Pouring their sooty fumes into the
Gaping mouth of the crowds.

I took a sip of the cappuccino-
The sweet bitterness;
Casted me back to those long
Winter months (wasted) -
I spent mourning about you.

I would shroud my room in black
Drink, drink, drink until-
All hues of blue
Would drown me in the Ocean of Woe.

Then Chet Baker mellowed the room:
'Some blues are sad, but some are glad, dark and sad.'

I felt as if I was suffocating.
There was something eerie about that jazz.

So I walked out-  of the light.
Let the rain rinse my sins, dance
Like a flapper: complacent, rebellious, dangerous,

puff away my eclipsed universe.
My blues were more than a cold colour:

'They're a moan of pain, a taste of strife and a sad refrain.'

A mini skirt, sweet wine and a bad disposition
We lose our hearts above the city streets
In an instant that lasts forever in measureless addition
Cigarettes, you and my fatal devotion
In a reality where triumphs now again turn to dreams

Written October 14th, 2016

Though storms may come let songs remain
Despite the cites firm embrace

Take photographs to pass the time
As I do wait and part the glass which separates

The scraping skies and flying wings
Both above and below the shallow sea

Let us walk beside the crashing waves
Just you and I, to smell the air and sense the breeze

That we might once again be free

This verse was burred. Deep in a place I used to write in. Amazingly...I wrote this in passing and without much thinking. Describing a few gray images of a storm and it's city. Looking back on's probably one of my most favorite pieces now. (:

Written 12/07/15
Next page