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Mio Seanachaidh Feb 2017
A girl was born in Bed–Stuy, Brooklyn on the 30th of June to a family of influence and wealth descending from the very man John C. Calhoun, himself

Lena Horne was a beautiful woman and soul; diversity radiated from her very essence from her spirit itself

Her racial heritage was a mix of African American, Native American, and European descent - family pride and honor came with her family name as the Horne was one of the First Families of Brooklyn

As raised and nurtured in a cosmopolitan sense, she was more than a pretty face and lovely name

The chanteuress was also a civil rights activist who fought for the rights of others, she denounced racism and fought injustice which unfortunately still exists

An epitome of style, elegance, and grace whose charms, bravery, and charisma will never be forgotten; she left an indelible mark in history

Known for her commanding presence, subtle dignity, and strength - she was a powerhouse in her own right

She graced this world with pride and strength; a rare soul and beautiful heart

May her legacy forever shine, cherish, and protect the future generations to follow

She will never be forgotten and always a light for coming tomorrows

Rest in Peace
First Family of Brooklyn - A term for wealthy upper class families in Brooklyn, New York who contribute greatly in society and are famous socialites in the community (especially the Horne family)

John C. Calhoun - An American statesman and political theorist from South Carolina, and the seventh Vice President of the United States. He is best remembered for pro - slavery yet advocating advance in concept of minority rights in politics, which he did in the context of defending Southern values from perceived Northern threats. His reputation legacy is extremely controversial.

Bronze Venus - A nickname for Lena Horne given to her because of her beauty

French - Chanteuress translates to English as female singer
Dirt Witch Nov 2016
We strolled through converging pathways spilling with synchronized chaos, finding our own space amidst the rumpus of the crowds on a small hill overlooking an endearing muddle of humanity. The grass was wet with evening dew and we were colored with the aureate light of dusk, watching everything swim by with novel delight. The city erupted before us, vibrant, apathetic, and amoral and we swelled with its magnitude. Round and enchanted, we rolled down the hill and fell into the peculiar happenings encapsulated in the windows.
We stood before a man with no eyes and worms coming out of his fingertips in a room with no floor. He smiled at us, carious teeth bending into slight parabolas under the pressure of its sweetness. We excused ourselves quickly, escaping into a opaline kaleidoscope that had opened up before us. I could taste all the lives we tumbled past as a mix of bitter almonds and grapefruit with the occasional shock of decomposing fish heads.
We squeezed our bodies into the melody of a madrigal sung by a girl with four heads and sonorous hands to find ourselves in the rafters of an old cathedral. Below us contorted souls filed into wooden confessionals screaming sins of their fathers into the ear of a deaf priest who gave copacetic blessings in the form of an orange pill bottle. Distended and bruised, we fell from the ceiling into the baptismal font. Bioluminescent algal blooms effloresce above our heads and resplendent stingrays whisked by, casting soft, amorphous shadows across our cheeks. Lulled by the etherial tenderness of the liminal world, we fell asleep with your hand on my neck and my fingers tangled in your seaweed hair.
We awoke to the sound of falling peaches and splitting skin. I pulled a small fish out from behind your ear and inhaled the brine of your tongue before stepping into the open window beneath your pinkie finger. A man in a suit who was really a box jellyfish greeted me in the center of a opulent office building that had no purpose. I politely declined to shake his hand and instead lost myself in the map of the city unfurled beneath the wall of glass in front of me. I pulled a small seashell out of my pocket and threw it. Everything shattered.
I felt you next to me, falling through space and low-lying clouds to find ourselves in the present.
We are saturated colors of mustard, earthen green, and midnight blue sprawled on sloping grass without hesitation. Buoyant and expectant, we meander through song and chatter to find ourselves bright and shining on a warm green bench talking in improvised harmony. Our skin is a new composition of window light, yellow and breathing. A synthesis of memories pool and flush our cheeks with affection and we inhale the world. Flags pirouette and fall, a refracted constellation glimmers on glass, and you taste like honey and rich smoke. The moon is ebullient, so full and round that in a gasp I pluck it from the sky and place it in your shirt pocket. We’re effervescent, with giggling fingertips on a euphoric investigation into novelty of human sensation. Somnolent and gentle, we fall asleep with the memory of our water soaked bodies burgeoning under softened hands.
Tommy W Jan 2014
You are stuck
Lost in a wave of people
Going and coming
All day long
You look around to see
The same expressions
All busy or tired
And ready to go
Go out
Out of this traffic
That has held you up...
Everyone up...
What is this place?
This...
This is New York City
Venny Mar 2016
Missing the trains, cars, and 3 AM bars. Excitement of the city, and the ache brought a pity. Of wanderlust she had once held in her hands and taken for granted. The adventure she had left there still overflowing in her heart. She had forgotten to appreciate the crowded avenues and beeping buses. The soft, gentle green grass of Central Park. The quiet and timid clink of silver spoons in coffee and tea shops. She missed the old rickety benches full of history and graffiti. The rough paved streets lined up with taxis. The food trucks overflowing with various smells calling your name. Even missing the loud taps of heels as businesswomen rushed passed her, to catch a meeting, a lunch date, a train. She realized what she thought she didn't want, was all she really needed. She thought she needed quiet and she thought she needed serene, but we all begin to realize nothing is what it seems. She knew what she needed to do, and she knew she would do it alone.  She would pack to go far, and get in a car,  going back to New York.... Her real home.
Nora Mar 2016
Industrial rust
dusted over and
hardened, tarnished
towers and the solitary
echo of the wind -
perhaps once there
was a presence to
this Plateau, if anything
it’s buried in the woods
of the cemetery with the
legacy. A dead tree in
a dying field, engulfed
by emptiness and a monument
to the past: but how much
longer will it last?
ShFR Jul 2015
Admit your defeat
relinquish your will and depart from the weapons you held against me
no amending
no treaty or a political stunt to get you back in office or my cubical
I'd rather commit career suicide
but, you've lost
and I will accept your resignation except you expect a pardon
that is *******,
yet hilarious
your building is up for sale in my life
and compared to your surrender is air:
Unbreakable
© 2015 by S Fraz All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of S Fraz
Jeanette Jul 2015
Every single time I think of you
it is never directly of you.

It always is the red potatoes
sprinkled with rosemary.

It is lit cigarettes on fire escapes.

it is record players,
and scrabble matches.

It is the look on the cab driver's face
as I forced you in his cab
when you got too drunk
on the fourth of july.

It is the ride back home,
over the Brooklyn Bridge.

It is Fireworks exploding
into chandeliers of light,
in the distance,
as you're passed out,
and I'm crying
because I miss my mother.

In hindsight, this too
was beautiful.
To A.J.L., this may not sound like a love poem but it is.
ShFR Jan 2015
"New York's charm is that you're surrounded by things you can't have"
then you
I meet an identity not of this world the term foreign sort after by many
a 1st world problem
No
"New York's charm is it makes you think you can have them"
Well well New York, an exotic creature I can't tame in disbelieve that you say your presence is illegal
not to be corralled
not to be labeled.
A 3rd world entity at least our verbs the same
but our actions?
explain
am I just another charm on your arm,
Or bracelet
brace yourself: New York
© 2015 by S Fraz All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of S Fraz
Brian Payamps Dec 2014
Let's speak about love and how much I love. I've watched my pen bleed out slowly for these words I've written that some have read. Only seem to trend when I speak about love.
Was told my poems are no good because they don't rhyme. Foolish guy wouldn't understand the essence of each line. Wouldn't understand that nothing is sweet just sour like lime. That my worst poems were the best in my mind. You still believe I can't make a poem rhyme? When you read this guess you'll be surprised. just to make it clear I probably read more books in my childhood than you'll read in you lifetime. Is easy to rhyme.
Said I couldn't have a 10 word scheme.
So here is one.
"*******" times five lines.
Said I speak to much about the hood I speak to much about drugs.
I don't need for you to understand I'm far away from the sunny side.
I live on Broadway never river side. From the city that doesn't sleep to the city that doesn't speak. I can tell you how to take ******* and make it sweet as sugar cane with water and baking soda.
Love love love as I tortured my pen.
I've watched my pen bleed out slowly for these words I've written that some have read. .
Why I speak about the ghetto?
Everyone poem that I've read has been about love that is far from the streets I grew up in. Every line coincides with the previous one. Love love love
I love my brother who brought me a slice when I didn't have to eat. Now I'm grown no more fasting for me. No trial he just took it 5 years later went from a blackberry to the iPhone 6. Six months in a halfway house now he's free.
I do more than speak about the hood and drugs.
Don't take it at face value if you don't know how much it cost me and the family.
I'm making it college degree and all.
I'm glad I don't trend
I'm glad some don't understand
I can speak about love though all my relationships have fallen and crumbled to the ground like the twin towers. And if that offends you then skip the line and read the next one
I can speak about love though all my relationships have fallen and crumbled to the ground like the Berlin Wall on November ninth of eighty nine. Love love love. This is my poetry and history is mine.
Love love love.
Just in case you didn't know love.
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.”
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