Standing on the overpass
i stop to look away
the endless stream of cars
sprinting from under my feet
dusky yellowish lights
start to illuminate the night
the city is beautiful at this time
yes it sure is
as the autumn winds blow
coolness grows
the heart feels barren
for no reason though
stars in the sky
twinkle once in a while
each one is an unknown dream
each one is too far away
a drop of rain fell from thereabouts
i saw it so i reach out
it touches my cheek
slips out of the corner of my eye
then in a trice
It floods the cityscape.

Alone in the city of melancholy,
I feel the street sides smoldering my hazy eyelids.
At night the moons of lanterns touch me only marginally
and wing cracked moths circle the illuminated edges of the panel building's decayed balcony -
gentle; endlessly.
Infinite depths of gray beneath the stone canyon skin
of 1980's asphalt-wrinkled face of my ardently antagonized Berlin.

© fey (17/08/23)

the dog night salivates and commands
                                     and commands
but i am abroad from that
  asleep with my family
  under the open windows
as others stew in the clubs, bars
     and packed terraces

the aggressive dote of the sun
   over the shimmering bleat of the city

muted by a power cut

my little grazing eye
summer distraction
  the people passing by
    simmering

Trolley cases on the quay, tourists
are part of it when you live here
And Thin John, sitting straight on his bike
every morning three times around the block
in the afternoon on foot the other way around
Mario the Sidewalk Speaker also
is part of it with his dog

Children jumping cannonballs
next to party people in their sloop
Anyone going on vacation
Every two minutes an air-plane
against the wind, low over the houses
Cyclists with their priority face
and the people who live here

The Americans in front of their café
on the corner, where believers sat
when the church with the tower was still there
Red Mia shuffling around
the litter bins, and neighbours
arguing again
They all belong

Here and everywhere the world
is maladjusted, we know
about ourselves and we address
each other: Hello! Good morning
good day here where we are at home
and can only wish that
everything remains different

this is my city, my bones
my architecture i have crafted
started here, riverbanks and pinecones
budded here, my roots continue to grow

We fell in love
in a city
built by the
gods

Might the years have betrayed me?
Not that I didn't know her but her
lights knew not the catches of my eye--

mighty concrete behemoths of mid
nineteen hundred something
littered my view in quaint newness while

myriads of roaring metal beasts
not without their own masters
lunged forward in a sea of people...

Mockup shops and street food scents
nudged my wallet into sharing a
little folded bill of blue, all while

market clamour played
next to the banter
lining the streets.

Alas!

More than a humble string of words
nailed on a poem the night hence are needed to
line her canopy of neon lights a

masterful description capable of
nesting all that was there in a neat
lingering thought!