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eve victoria Dec 2015
all that's changed in nyc
since he begged for a chance
that plea for peace
the power he gave the people
twenty years to be free,

is a body on the sidewalk
with a bullet in it's back
and six miles down the hudson
a space
where two buildings once sat.
Joel Ochoa Nov 2015
These city streets are no place for me, this is what ive known all my life. This concrete jungle, this carnival of madness. This city is becoming a reflection of my soul, slowly engulfing me in its chaos. Not wanting me to break free of its shackles it tightens its grip hoping i will be defeated and submit. I am not so simple, i am no longer that young naive boy this city has raised. This passion is burning inside of me, my ambition will break those ties that bind me to the pavement. Success awaits me at the top of the world,
its form still unknown but my wings have just grown.
©Joel Ochoa|Nov.22.2015
Ella Catherine Nov 2015
today i laid on my back in the middle of the new york public library and stared at the painting on the ceiling

i’m not the kind of person to do that
to be honest, it was just because you did -
without a thought, without a pause, you just flopped down and stared up at prometheus bringing fire to the mortals,
your eyes huge and full of life

when we were crossing the street to get to bryant park,
you grabbed my hand so i wouldn’t get lost in the crowd and
we both held on for a little bit too long

are you thinking about that moment as much as i am?

sometimes i wish i could forget about the kind of person i’m supposed to love, supposed to marry -
the perfect christian guy that my parents would love, who would pray the rosary with me every night before bed
sometimes i wish i could just love who i want to love, and stare up at the paintings on the ceiling even though i’m not supposed to,
because who even puts a painting on the ceiling anyway?
it's beautiful, it's there,
so why shouldn't i look at it?

you are utterly unprecedented, you make me feel normal and human and alive

your hand was so small and cold but it was okay, it really was
for b
E Townsend Nov 2015
Underneath the rushing world
our situation at a glance
has yet to quietly unfurl.
I am only a lonely girl
who's never had a slow-song dance
above the big rushing world.
And you, you look like you could twirl
me, and trap my heart in a trance,
which has yet to slowly unfurl.

On these tracks, there is a pearl
among the others in a stance,
underneath the rushing world.
Suddenly the train stops and hurls
you toward me. This is my chance.
I should take it. But it unfurls,

I need to say before this whirl
    I have not met you. In advance
underneath the rushing world
our love will not ever unfurl.
Trevon Haywood Oct 2015
A future New York City Subway car ordered for the B Division.
It will replace the aging fleet of R-32s and R-42s and expand the fleet for the Second Avenue Subway.
The contract to build these cars has been awarded to Bombardier Transportation who will build the cars at it's Plattsburgh, New York facility.
The base order for the R-179 will be approximately 290 cars with an option of 300 cars.
And it's expected to enter service between 2016 and 2022.
A poem about the R-179
Joel Valerio Aug 2015
With the distance you would think there'd be some type of resistance but in actuality the reality is I can't help but be persistent..
Am I existent?
I've relinquished my energy when we converse with verses the synergy creates natural remedies will you even remember me?
I'll be gone till December I know I said November but that's not the point. Do you mind if I smoke this joint so I can redirect this intellect we use to disconnect birthing a Cortex around this vortex.. am I important...
Cori MacNaughton Aug 2015
Here is the inimitable Jeff Buckley's poem, "My New Year's Eve Prayer," which he performed live at Sin-é in Manhattan, NYC, in 1996.


"You, my love, are allowed to forget
about the Christmas you just spent stressed out in your parents' house.

You, my love, are allowed to shed the weight
of all the years before,
like bad disco clothes.
Save them for a night of dancing ****** with your lover.

You, my love, are allowed to let yourself drown
every night in bottomless wild and naked symbolic dreams.

You, my love, in sleep can unlock your youth
and your most terrifying magic;
and dreaming is for the courageous.

You, my love, are allowed to grab my guitar
and sing me idiot love songs
if you've lost your ability to speak.
Keep it down to two minutes.

You, my love, are allowed to rot and to die
and to live again,
more alive and incandescent than before.

You, my love, are allowed to beat the **** out of your television,
choke it's thoughts and corrupt its mind.
****! ****! ****! **** the *******
before the song of zombiefied pain
and panic and malaise
and it's narrow right-winged vision
and it's cheap commercial gang ****
becomes the white noise of the world.

Turn about is fair play.

You, my love, are allowed to forgive and love your television.

You, my love, are allowed to speak in kisses
to those around you
and those up in heaven.

You, my love, are allowed to show your babies
how to dance full bodied,
starry eyed, audacious, supernatural and glorified.

You, my love, are allowed to **** in every single endeavor.

You, my love, are allowed to be soaked like a lovers' blanket
in the New York summertime
with the wonder of your own special gift.

You, my love, are allowed to receive praise.

You, my love, are allowed to have time.

You, my love, are allowed to understand.

You, my love, are allowed to love.

Woman, disobey,
when little men believe;

You, my love, are Rebellion."
For Hello Poetry user "Jeff Buckley":

While I agree that musician Jeff Buckley's lyrics are poetic, and often reach the level of true poetry, here is one of his actual poems, never set nor intended to be set to music.  

It is a ****** good poem,  touching on a number of subjects near and dear to my heart, which strongly resonates with me.

For the record, I have come only recently to the music of Jeff Buckley, within the past year, through my wonderful and musically adept husband Marek.  Buckley's music has moved me far more than that of most other singer/songwriters, save only for Steven Wilson, Mariusz Duda and Nick Drake.  He and I shared a lot of influences in common, from old 1920s blues and jazz, to pop standards, French music, classical and early British rock and progressive rock.  His first and only studio album released during his lifetime, "Grace," is not to be missed.

Sadly, he drowned at the age of 30, accidentally or otherwise, robbing us all of his incredible gift.  Not only was he an amazing songwriter, but a fine guitarist and, most of all, an incredible vocalist.  He had not only an amazing vocal range, but as mentioned a widely divergent source of influences, lending to some truly transcendent music and lyrics.  

RIP Jeff Buckley.  You are sorely missed.

For those interested in seeing his performance of the poem, which shows what a humble guy he was, you can find it here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=duoujUI--Mo
Tcodee Jun 2015
Slow jerking snake like
Pierces dark runs on iron moves
Below under the city
#nyc #subway #haiku #motion
Tcodee Jun 2015
Train moves jerkingly north
Commuters ignore each other
Waiting for days end
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