#francisco poems on Hello Poetry

Brianna Nov 2014

I remember looking across the Golden Gate Bridge thinking... This was it! We could never be who we used to be.

Wind in our hair as we drove fast on the interstate... Just you laughing at me and me smiling at you.

What joy to be young and dumb and in love with each other and life.

It was a cool California night, we drank wine under the moonlight and roamed the city with brown paper bags in our hands.

You arms around my shoulders your lips against my cheek... I couldn't help but think this was it! We could never be who we used to be.

There's something about the city at night with its lights and the thought that danger could be around any corner.

But this was exactly where we ought to be... Just you laughing at me and me smiling at you.

#love #wine #nature #joy #smiling #laughter #california #francisco #windy #san

Eva Ellen Oct 2014

God

What is beautiful in San Francisco?
Nothing.
In this city we are all ***** sinners looking for a sweet distraction of purpose.
What is beautiful about San Francisco?
Everything.
In a place where desperation meets innovation, we give birth to skyscrapers, art, music, joy, hate, ***, love, and positively shining ideas. However essential to our existence and our sanity, these things are ugly because they stem from us and are therefore destined to warped, mangled, stretched, killed, and forgotten. But San Francisco tries on, steady as her bridge, to bring people to the enlightened kingdom. But we dark inhabitants are fated to lose the battle; for she cannot help us rise above the pull of the flaws of man.
This is the story of me.
And of Him.
And of San Francisco.
The story of opportunity for a new life, and an unavoidable failure.

#sin #god #religion #free #fate #symbolism #city #will #francisco #san

Josh Aug 2014

Portrait of a Subway

Encased in metal, their bodies careened towards the city. The grinding, the metal on metal screeching, quieted their thoughts.

Head against glass, crowded and foggy, the mother in grey plots her scheme to the nearest bottle of liquor. The man with guilt in his eyes, clutches her hand and wonders when he can get away.

They coast past creeks of muck and cigarette butts. Two bodies on their way to the next hour.

The small girl sleeps on her mothers chest breathing foul ash from the air. Her father smokes with his hand behind a book and exhales sour remorse from his worn lungs.

The mother with heavy eyes, avoids wishful thinking. She has never relied
on luck, so she sits, encased in metal ignoring faces and avoiding eyes.

#new #city #york #train #francisco #subway #san

Martin Narrod Apr 2014

April 26, 2014

In every one-word world, exotic spaces' gradual state of life proclaimed as a melon . As the urges to divide the pleasures of the infernal forth from the happiness which has closed in to the square-shaped restless less rolling boxes. And what the treat is if all of the souls from the cypress take the higher breaths of the shrew and belabor them unto the points of humanity, uncivilized humanity that is quite bountifully.

During this autumnal abscission where the alizarin and pallid arms and edges, crooked and afraid, steep in the sullied tatterdemalion and the mysophilia that emimart

#love #heartbreak #poem #poetry #broken #poet #fear #life #heart #living #afraid #boy #boys #muse #ache #live #autumn #heartache #chicago #francisco #pleasure #crooked #sanfrancisco #dates #date #martinnarrod #musedandamused #exotic #shortpoems #pleasures #themuse #malepoets #san #gradual #autumnal #dothebadthing #kelseylocken #kelsey #locken #infernal #proclaim #highlandpark #beartbroken #fifthstep #twelvesteps #tatterdemalion #mysophilia #emimart #musedandamuseds #murmur #menwhowritepoetry #dated #tropicalparadise #boyhoodromance #boyhood

Martin Narrod Apr 2014

good night moon

Your colors are so heavy, how dare I, I cannot sleep. Years inundated under, through skin coils, marigold fields. Yellow crocuses, orange California poppies. Moors of cattle ranchers, yokes of oxen. Plasticine uber-confidence, silky white-skinned testubular thrice people harmonies. Blisses of contagion, contagious bliss. Wrists and incisors, tying down in a bedroom, waking up to live harps and choruses. You dance like you're so alive, but I'm so alive I can't dance. Or breathe. Or knead my fists of earthen wears, or sell my soul completely. I drove off a cliff last night, but the four foot fall ended neatly. The plateau authors my chance to sew my bright, beyond- my fortunes. But the hour before I fall asleep, seems to be the greatest torture.

#love #heartbreak #poem #life #sleep #flowers #cant #dreams #romance #people #flower #best #had #the #forgetting #dreaming #romantic #you #*** #skin #it #souls #three #hours #colors #years #live #chances #heartache #yellow #metaphors #heavy #get #emotional #poppies #author #ever #year #nightmares #naughty #california #francisco #lives #sentimental #cattle #daft #sanfrancisco #plastic #martinnarrod #virginia #blackhole #tips #authors #narrod #martin #britniwest #***** #thrice #droves #porm #poemporn #thehours #oxen #uber #crocuses #marigold #mrsdalloway #virginiawoolf #woolf #dalloway #icantsleep #cantsleep #notsleeping #heavyemotions #marigolds #dayofthedead #britniswest #callanwest #bwest #thisisnotadanceparty #anotherbreakoftheheart #faketales #san #pacificcoasthighway #fishnets #nightdress #crises #tabasco #rascal #**** #sextips #sentimentality

Labyrinth Mar 2014

That Kind of Love

You see, I want that, I want that, ‘my friends think I’m crazy’ kind of love.
That ‘reckless’ kind of love.
That ‘wake up early make you breakfast’ kind of love.
That, ‘crack open my life and say look, you gotta see this’ kind of love.
Forget the shallow stuff, I want the deepest kind of love.
That ‘I want to stay up late and tell you all my secrets’ kind of love.
That every time I see you walk on pieces kind of love.
I want that ‘stand next to me’ kind of love.
That ‘it’s by destiny’ kind of love.
That ‘no matter what happens to me, you’ll always get the best of me’ kind of love.
That ‘you get my heart and my mind, this world gets the rest of me’ kind of love.
That ‘invest in me’ kind of love, because ‘you already know that I’m invested in you’ kind of love.
That ‘you come home upset, and you don’t have to say nothing, I already know what to do’ kind of love.

I want,
love.

Title: To The Girl Who Works at Starbucks Down The Street From My House
Credits to: Rudy Francisco
28.03.2014

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8dgm4c7Xs80

#girl #the #my #street #down #to #who #house #at #rudy #francisco #works #starbucks

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