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Julia Oct 17
i put on vertigo today
to relate to the slow flooding of green
i came to the circling score
remembering how I used to get slapped
when scotty embraces made-over judy
i couldn’t help but cry as i fear
i want to be made-over too
in someone else’s image
You are a nova in the thick midst of mediocrity
Detoxing hollywood's formulaic Poison,
By Feeding me fruits of originality;
A breath of new air, missing from
Incompetent directors, who sacrifice
Quality on the altar of money.

Free from blemish,
Pure in talent,
Clothed in consistency,
The bitter voices of critics
Remain silent from the gutter.

You sealed my depression;
Binding him to the lowest dungeon in my subconscious,
Depriving him of my pessimism which he feast on, when you
Pulled me into your gentle arms,
With your metal wings of comfort.

You danced through each scene,
Moving us deeply
With your raw performance
Pointless to be mimic.

Alita,
Cyborg of the skys,
The box office has found favor
With you!
Your screening still stands
Victorious amongst a sea of
Mudanity.
Norman Crane Sep 23
That gibberish he talked was city speak,
Gutter talk near the Tannhäuser Gate:
Memories, you're talking about memories,
Moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain,
All I could do is sit there and watch him
die. Slow thing and he fought it all the way,
Where do I come from? Where am I going?
Go to Hell or go to Heaven, I'm afraid,
That's a little outside my jurisdiction,
Fiery the angels fell / deep thunder rolled,
Ships on fire off shoulder of Orion,
More human than human is our motto,
I watched him die all night. To have feelings,
I've seen things you people wouldn't believe.
Created from lines from Ridley Scott's 1982 film, Blade Runner.
Norman Crane Sep 18
We came but our children have barely time
for us for they are leading busy lives.
When we were younger we had barely time
for us for we were leading busy lives.
How it passes: like the train that brought us,
winding but with purposeful direction.
How it passes: like steam above tea cups,
a gently rising evaporation.
We had tea with the widow of our son.
Our train returns home early. Life goes on.
Inspired by Japanese director Yasujiro Ozu's 1953 film Tokyo Story. Ozu's simple and gentle style is one of cinema's great treasures, and I hope to one day be able to do it justice in words.
Norman Crane Sep 17
The idea had been growing in my brain,
Queens, fairies, dopers, junkies, sick, venal,
They are all animals anyway,
Become a person like other people,
Organization is necessary,
All the animals come out at night,
There never has been any choice for me,
Wash all this **** off the streets. My body fights,
There is no escape. I am God's lonely man,
Headaches that stay and never go away,
Thank God for the rain. Wash the garbage and
cannot put it back together again,
One day there will be a knock on the door,
and it will be me. What hope is there for (me?)
This poem was created from lines of dialogue spoken by Travis Bickle in the 1976 film Taxi Driver, directed by Martin Scorsese and written by Paul Schrader.
Ceyhun Mahi Sep 12
Night and day I see your face at stores;
A famous one, seen in different shapes,
That does express life, which each fan adores,
Adventures with downfalls and escapes.
Like stars of olden days, in black and white,
In every scene you shine with emotions,
Each smile, each tear a different sight,
Praised for many philosophical notions.
Oh, and my teenage years were filled with you,
Right and left I would see you for a while,
Till I would suddenly find someone new,
Making me feel safe with a lonely smile.
Amongst the loved ones you were then, O star,
Nonstop, while I was always apart so far.
It fits perfectly for a sonnet :)
Lily Sep 4
art
Perfectly curled caramel hair
Cascades down her shoulders,
Bouncing in time with the music.
He can’t help but savor every
Fragment of her movement as he
Traces the camera around her frame,
Capturing the dance.
She’s an actress in every sense of the term,
Her eyes sad yet powerful,
Her body hurting yet beautiful.
The music ends and she stops, breathless,
Her hair that has fallen in front of her face
Flowing up and down as she catches her breath.
“Did you get it?”
She asks him,
And suddenly he’s back to himself,
Back from the world her dance took him to.
“Definitely,” he says, and when
Her dimples break her face open,
The camera is still rolling,
For he doesn’t want to miss a second of her beauty.
She isn’t just poetry.
She is art.
poetry girl pt. 5
Nigdaw Aug 31
where Hollywood's celluloid dream
is reflected off silver screen
into the consciousness
of audience's expectations
sitting
in amphitheatre auditoriums
amid
whispered conversations
plot revelations
spoiler alert
sweet packet crinkle
coke slurp
popcorn rustle
where held hands
make promises breached
bases reached
love declared
for a fumble on a back seat
childhoods spent
getting out from under
grownups feet
the good guys won
the bad guys wore black
where a thousand shots fired
nobody died
in the end
aching legs brought to life
to leave with
a head full of stories
unrelated to real life
ShadowSpy Aug 8
My lifes a show
Filled with sorrow and danger
Its not a promising film
You'll hear them say
As the scenes
Play across the screen
I glance at the audience
The theatre is empty
Except for me
I reach down and stuff
A handful of popcorn
Into my mouth
Hoping that'll stop the sobs
Even though
Theres no one watching
ill tell you, my lifes probably not the movie youll buy a ticket for
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