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Katelyn Knapp Jan 2015
It's vicious.
He spits honey-coated excuses
Just as I misplace forgiveness
Sliding under him,
Rising over me
As snowflakes fall outside this Brooklyn brownstone of mistakes.

But these pebbled streets
and long-forgotten sidewalks,
crossed daily by hundreds
...they soften everything.

It's beautiful and tragic
as I remember nothing and everything
If only for some time,
if only in this place.

This crack in the sidewalk, his hand in mine
That tree with the branch that hangs too low...
his eyes
a smile
true love.

This is where I come to forget.
Natalie Thompson Jan 2015
January 31st is just around the corner
With hope it will be slightly warmer
I haven't seen you in a while
Your lisp makes me smile
I miss my Long Island New Yorker
Limerick for Michael
because he rocks

...the lisp though
Rhet Toombs Jan 2015
I'm not saying everything is perfect
I'm not saying things are amazing
I'm not saying life is perfect
I'm not saying people are amazing

I just want to stay in bed
(warm and safe for now)
Sophie Wilson Jan 2015
I

That idol, with black eyes and pixie-cut, with
aristocrats nobler than artists, holier than New York City
hipsters; his selfishness running through her veins,
purple and blue like blood, or tarnished by amphetamines
in waves of ferocious sadness and yearning.

At the border of her life- young hope twinkles, fades
and dulls out- the girl with chandelier earrings, deer
legs, dancing in silver reflections of tears gushing
from the aftermath of shattered dreams dressed up
as vivid illusions.

Ladies who stroll outside of society, girls
plucked from art school, with trust funds, superb luxury
wardrobes, jewels on show but riches hidden in the
ground of trusting valleys in burnt gardens- young and
broken with eyes full of flashing lights, sullen, princess
of costume and keeping hidden. Gently ignored and
choked, unhappy.

What boredom, without your "genius."

It is she, the little girl, dead before innocence-
The young artist, alive, does not stoop- his life
creeks but for a second. His inspiration empty
and studio up for sale. Her shutters pulled down
and the key to superstardom in the lock forever
because the soul is empty.

The city's silver fountains drowned and cried for her
fabulous elegance.

II

I am the life who mourns like blue summertime.

I am the academic who waves manuscripts on
elusive "culture" and "style."

I am the pedestrian who looks up to the sky then turns
to the ground. Smoggy greyness and dead black
concrete pleads me to keep searching.

I might well be the same child; lost and unhappy
and hungry. Dreaming of touching stars but miles
from Heaven.

I am the artist. Manipulative creator and selfishness
embedded into the sinews of my heart.

The lamp shines brightly on these happy photographs. I
keep falling for these stupid books. Edie, oh, Edie.
You have gone and the world is ending!
eye say ahhhh Jan 2015
MTA
The option of life is hard
To keep on and on without an end
I watch the train arrive and go
I ask myself is this the one
What burden bothers the conductor
Could I stop this train in time
Will he try to die tonight
I've contemplated everyday
The pros the cons
But anyway
rebecca suzanne Jan 2015
When I asked God to give me a sign,
a Sagittarius wasn't what I had in mind,
but I want nothing more than
to spend everyday tripping over our feet
and into new adventures.

You have a wicked sense of humour that
makes your eyes sparkle
and when you laugh I feel it in my chest.
I feel everything,
Like when you wouldn't let go of my
hand when you got that tattoo
or when you told me about
all the things you would change about yourself.
I felt that and I broke.

I still remember when you wrinkled your nose
and told me about the scar on your thigh.
You have a birthmark shaped like Massachusetts
and I want to take you everywhere.
You worry too much
about too much
and I don't mind reassuring you
that I'm the one with good balance
and you're the one that ought to be careful.

I didn't mean to fall in love with you,
love is an anchor and
baby I believed I was built for speed.
I like how you slow things down, though.
I didn't notice how many things
are living and loving
until we fed the ducks at the park
and watched some ants build a home.
I've never had a home, but I never had you before.
Jared Winslow Jan 2015
laying in my bed, trying to write this poem
Being in a small town, wishing somewhere bigger and brighter was my home.
A place where people don't sleep.
Where the night owls thrive.
A place where everything is always alive.
I look outside my window and see nothing but darkness and an empty street.
Nothing but one street lamp, how does everyone feel complete?
Do people ever get lonely and want something more?
Doesn't anyone always want an open door?
I want to look out my window, and see action.
Taxi's and people and human interaction.
Not some empty street that's a depressing distraction.
I want something more, bright lights galore, a place where sleep doesn't have to be an option anymore.
untitled Dec 2014
Our Guardians "Stand tall"

Our Guardians reach out to "Break our fall"

Our Guardians are here to "Protect"

Our Guardians deserve our "Respect"

But somewhere along, we've gone astray

And it seems, the life of minorities we pay.

We no longer look up at out Guardians, who we once adored

They look down upon us, creating those feelings we abhor.

Instead of reaching out, and breaking our fall

They bring down the baton, and our rights stall.

Our Guardians were chosen, their duty to protect

But it seems a majority is experiencing neglect.

"Respect your Guardians", says a whisper in our ear

But in the Guardians, we have begun to fear.

Our Guardians are now, creating massive harm

Regardless of whether or not we bear arms.

A man was choked to death in New York

But we must remain calm, we cannot raise the pitch fork.

We must follow the words, of our wonderful King

From hill to hill, let freedom ring

Our Guardian's freedoms, we must respect

And urge in return, ours they protect.

To end racism, and bring on equal rights

We must use our voices, it is pointless to fight.

Looting and rioting, we will see no achievement

We must peacefully protest, change will come, believe it.

Equality is near, I feel it in the air

Our voices tremble not, I feel no despair.

We are on the verge of righting our wrongs

We look to the Gospel and, in song,

We unite our voices, and bring forth change,

Equality for all, the idea is not strange.

Continue the journey, my brothers and sisters,

Raise your voices, fall not to whispers.
My personal views on the issue and racism and police brutality in the United States. Dr.Martin Luther worked hard to get us where we are now, but the process isn't complete. We must continue to, in the name of equality, continue our peaceful protest. Get inspired, make a difference.
A Dec 2014
A burning sadness
Crept up from within me
Like the cigarette you just finished
Its smoke engulfed me.

We had the usual date.
“For old times sake,” you said.
Dinner at Applebee’s
And a movie at 42nd.

Interstellar was on the plate
Our first heavy movie together.
It mushed our already tired brains
But like always, we analyzed it after.

Remember Valentine’s at Kip’s Bay?
We watched the Lego Movie.
At one point our combined laughter
Was all that echoed throughout the theater.

But we’ve also ridden a Central Park carousel,
And ate bibimbap at 35th.
You’ve felt at home on my couch
While I fell asleep on your tummy at Brooklyn Bridge Park.

I have these and more to take with me.
And when you hugged me goodbye tonight,
This scorching flame burned brighter,
As you whispered into my ear, “I’ll miss you.”
A couple sat embraced in the corner of the subway at 2 am,
They huddled together in their winter jackets,
Riding around to escape the bitter cold.
She had her legs in his lap and she leaned into him as if whispering a secret,
Her head was against his collarbone as she listened for agreement but was met with the steady hum of the lights overhead.
The moment was intimacy
So much so that it led to the question of how they had gotten to the point of being so intimate
On public transportation
And I felt as though it was something I had been interrupting.
But three stops later and they were off into the night at Grand Central Station.
I saw them again in late May
But now they stuck to just holding hands,
She rested her head in the same spot as last time though,
And they weren’t embracing, but the intimacy was present in the stifled giggles and stolen glances.
And forever was more than a promise,
It was a reality.
An Ekphrastic Poem (a poem about a piece of art, in this case a photograph by Gary Winegrand that was on display in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City)
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