Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Gorba 3d
Just like Paris, it’d be the first place I’d go to
If I were to suddenly fall in love
It has a cupid’s bow, two banks, but no bridges to go through
Because there is no water, neither between them nor above.

It can be found on the South side of the green land
And gets its color from internal rivers running underground
Its surface is softer than the palm of a baby’s hand
With borders that expand each time its owner makes a sound.

Water regularly passes through, right before promptly disappearing
Leaving only behind a few dripping drops, or only a transient sensation of hydration.
There are no monuments ever emerging
But the repetition of apparent ridges begs for contemplation

A succession of narrow valleys and high hills
Shaping a unique pattern worn by a queen
Creating an irrepressible desire to get closer and closer
Until the city cannot be seen
But appears to have been projected on a mirror
Having now a Siamese sister
A sister that I hope would never leave
As this connection would wake in me a fever
The kind that people would want to experience forever.
We've all been there :)
the sun (plus all the particles
that make up its purple ghost) rests
over the winter-weary streets
and, seeing all the people walking
with their heads down, recoils
and shivers.

the building (with the glass
all over, exposing tired office
jockeys), even as it looms, shows
sympathy to the mourning cosmos.

there is no sun chicago
there is no glimmer in DC
the lights are out. the grey
days are here.

even in the cold, the boiler
rumbles. the grass
crunches slightly
beneath your shoe.
There's still
a part of me in London-
I left it in my dingy block
on Deptford High Street.
Another part of me still
remains in St James Park,
somewhere in the flowers
and another somewhere in
the markets of Camden Town.
I don't think it'll ever leave.
trcain 7d
this city is never silent
cars roll around mad at each other
and people yell my name like
I can't hear what they all say behind my back

At starless night we're all alone
Everyone looks out their window
And the dreams they dared to dream
could come true any moment now

and when we cross the street
to our favorite restaurant
we've been everywhere
this city is loud with us

and when i'm walking home alone
with music in my ears
and the dreams inside my head
this city is quiet with me
a headline, a title, an instant self-commissioned
to live on, sponsored by these dying times,
a new poem, a different rabbit hole, a reflective surface
of in-between spaces, that separates letters, I am
that man, charter member, a voting citizen of the

The City That Never Sometimes Sleeps

the new traffic patters, i.e. no traffic at all,
messes up circadian rhythms, no trucks honking,
even the ambulances silenced, asking what’s the rush,
this year the cicadas, them too, took the seventh year off,
the strange silence wierded them out,
so they sheltered in place

our device, informs, it has been employed
20 hours 42 minutes of the last twenty four cycle,
don’t disagree, wonder only where the heck I was for
the 3 hours 18 minutes unaccounted

wasn’t sleeping, of that ‘rest’ assured,
must have been unconsciously
writing poetry, a voyage to my
beloved holy dark,
where nightly
he reimagines when things were
normal and empty streets were
a refreshing sight, a welcome change,
not a harbinger of the visible separation
between the living and the dead
imagine if we had a small flat
buried in the middle of the city
like i know you want
away from the sky.

living together and dancing
drinking mocktails and laughing
i want to see you happy
just once. just once.

we could have a dog or a cat, because
we'd be in a penthouse suite looking
over the rainy cityscape
up high in the thin air.

there would be dreams experienced
side by side in the night
and when you say my name
i won't miss a beat.

it's just a fantasy, a novelty
afforded by imagination
so that when i hear your voice
i see our flat in the city
and not what you wish
you
had said
to me.
kautsarhilmi May 14
~a letter for you

Kita,
Dari daerah melangsir ke kota
Dari kota berbalik ke daerah
Dan takkan dapat lagi ke kota
Lain sebab apa, lain sebab kenapa
Kendatipun impresi memberontak kita

Kota,
Kita ingat tentang kota
Kota takkan ingat kita
Sebab kita tak miliki tahta
Lain sebab apa, lain sebab kenapa
Apa daya reminisensi meronta

Kota,
Kita ingat tentang kota
Kawanan sutet di kota kita
Menari menawan menara kota
Dekorasi dari kita, gradasi ufuk dunia
Persuasi para penguasa kota
Prasasti Suwarnadwipa, pula
Visualisasi ragam abiotik Tuhan Yang Esa

Kota,
Kita ingat tentang kota
Hamparan ladang pabrik di kota
Riasan pipa asap terus-menerus menyala, gradasi ufuk dunia
Luas menggugah animo di daerah
Meski honorarium tak seberapa
Kita duga cukup tuk besar di kota
Manalagi di daerah

Kita,
Telah lama tak singgah pada kota
Lain sebab apa, lain sebab kenapa
Kota kita indah katanya
Kota, bilamana kita berjumpa pula?
Kita takkan abaikan memori tentang kota
Lain sebab apa, lain sebab kenapa
Kota kita indah katanya
Kota, bilamana kita berjumpa pula?
Dari pengagummu di daerah
Tuk segenap kenangan kota yang hampa.
a letter for you~
SpiralDancer May 14
Jewelled lights
Inner city
Urban sunsets lookin' pretty
A Tower block rapunzel
hair spun from ghetto gold
15th storeys high
and the stories gettin' old
No knight is waiting
A million dreams are broken
the lift is out of order
Hope seems a foolish notion
Isolation is her captor
the city her disorder

******

Throwin' caution to the sky gods
She dresses in her armour
Advances down the stair well
Into inner city drama
On the 29 she takes a seat
looks straight ahead
Smile painted on.
The day she greets
********
At dusk again, in towered gloom
Moon illuminates her room
Stitching up torn, tired seams
of abandoned.
Long lost dreams.
Her heart.  
Already healing
Urban warrior forever
One day she'll leave this jungle.
Maybe. Who knows.
Whatever.
I spent years surviving the cold isolation of London in my early twenties.  Working, keeping afloat. I wrote this recently when I was working there and staying in my friends flat on the 15th floor in North London.  Epic and bleak and isolating.  Seems even more pertinent in lockdown!
Salvador Kent May 11
Cold wind blows against your lips...
Staring at each other as the grey sky
Contemplates the look in your eyes...
Painful. While hers is mellow, soft.

Haven't eaten all day you say
As a soft glance of anxiety catches
Your gaze and disapproves.
You should eat she says
Sorry your reply
Good please, don't want you to die...
I know.

And she talks about mistakes...
How she's learning from them she says
And you agree and wish for the wind
To kiss your cheek and make your
Blush seem natural but it seems that
You'll just have to ache
With pain in your heart as she asks
Why you blush.

Car park roof...
Sunset hidden by the grey clouds
And there's a cup in your hands...
Warm. Calming. And her gaze
Is directed towards the distance
On this car park roof that you love
So much for some reason.

And she says life is a pocketful of posies.
And you don't know what that means
Regardless, you agree...

You love her.
But you don't want to say...
Blanchette walks away
Smiling. Happy.
Although she's stopped saying
I love you.
Because it's just not true...

Life's a pocketful of posies
She says...
Treasured words.

...

It's over now.
Doesn't matter...
Blanchette moved to France.
You told her how you felt
That last day...

Kiss on the cheek and then she ran away.

Life's a pocketful of posies you tell yourself.

Life's a pocketful of posies,
That's what she said...
And now she's gone off to France,
With a kiss on the cheek
Blanchette's gone to France.
A poem that's an exercise for a play I'm writing.
Next page