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Richie Lucibello Nov 2014
The subway in NYC
Is a rather odd circumstance
Underground transit
Tunnels from one world to the next
Cluttered
Smelly
Sometimes cold
Or terribly hot
All races
So many workers
In service of this city
I sit and I wonder
Why must I do this?
Is this part of the dream?
Or do dreams have repercussions?
A homeless man
Asks for a dime
A dollar he says
Will bide him some time
Every day I work
And every day I spend
In and out of the subway
Feels like quick sand
Underground, lost in thought
Is it all an illusion?
Are we really going anywhere?
I'd like to take my bike
Up into the clouds
Look down on all the beauty
And reconsider the
System
That rules underground
Delays our existence
I'm bound
Eleutheromania
Is what I feel each day
Aggravated by the mundane
By the waiting
I am stuck
Cramped between strangers
On time, early
Words I don't often employ
When I'm talking about myself
Lately I'm wondering
If my eternal clock is behind
Some things are so simple
Obvious
Quick to understand
Easy to achieve
Friendships I make
With very little effort
Lovers are not
So simple or obvious
I try to understand
Am I ever heading in the right direction?
Am I too easy?
Or is it too difficult to achieve?
I find so many men to be like the subway
Often a waste of time
Unreliable, mysterious
A nuisance
And yet I return
Almost every day
To the need and desire
To take the ride
Believing I'll arrive exactly where I want to be
Even if I'm late
*Before I met you...
Ghost Writer Nov 2014
when I sit in bed listening to the sounds of the city outside my window
I feel like I owe it a poem, creativity, something beautiful
to eternalize it's beauty in someway
the sounds of cars speeding through the bridge at 3:34am
souls repelled and pulled by the never-ending enigma that is the city
the heels of woman clacking across the cement, finding their ways home
the white noise in the rare moment that silence invades
this all silently screams to me, "paint me like a French girl"
I'm a muse, waiting to be picked upon
and nothing will ever be good enough
Felicia C Nov 2014
so many shades of home
exist simultaneously in this city

and i feel so lucky to call this corner mine for now.

i'm sure someday i'll be hidden away in the mountains again
or surrounded by thousands of trees so much taller than i

but for now the lights on train are exciting enough.
November 2014
Chloe Elizabeth Oct 2014
I still loved you when the city lights burnt out
and you couldn't find your way home

By Chloe Elizabeth
statictitanic Oct 2014
The paper is empty
blank, white, fragile
But the city is impossible to color
Each part of this picture requires specific, individualism
the smell of nuts sold in the small vendor carts
The words 5th Ave written on a street sign
but pronounced like its on a plaque
The rush of hot air when the train rushes away
warming you on days nature places her cold, bitter burden over you
Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens
heard on the news too often
No need to film movies here,
when the movie is the one we are in, and the wounds are real
Staten Island, forgotten most times
Hazy and far, isolated from everyone
And then there's Manhattan
clean streets but flawed history in the sidewalk

There's too much going on
I still don't know what to write
In this bustling city
A pen is not enough
So I leave my paper empty and let the blankness tell the story of
New York
statictitanic Oct 2014
It's the flame that burns through each layer of skin
if you resist, you can try to save yourself from these sins
It's bottled upon the top cabinet, to the right, in the left side of the kitchen,
next to the cabinet there's a window
letting the hazy skyline fill in the unspoken words from your lips
You can try to conceal these wrongs, drink away this burning flame
but the ashes will always remain.
Look, and walk around, the cursive words
scribbled on the doors of bathroom stalls
abandoned buildings to sinful to care who desecrates them any further
Soon, you don't have to see but hear
the drying throat, hope to swallow more doubt into the pit of hell.
The longer you bear this pain, the more time will reach its last hour
and when the world has shut the door on your face
leaving you in limited space
these secrets will be written on your arsenic bones
and all that will remain is the secrets heavy in the New York air.
statictitanic Oct 2014
In this city the bright lights can blind you
let you forget the rustic coins littered around the floor
caught by grimy hands belonging to a woman
she holds her life on a thin piece of cardboard
written in faded Sharpie

If you ever lose your way with the crowd
and stumble upon the empty alleyways
they possess cracked glass from beer bottles,
old shopping advertisements, broken toys
and the stench of trash mixed with lost hope realizing
the pavement isn't always perfect but littered with cracks

Walk further down and you will pass the rejected streets,
houses gone foreclosed and no remorse
all that matters is the country's history,
pressed on notorious green paper belonging to greedy hands
forgetting about the family that lost their house

Wait at the train station,
for the rumble and two yellow lights
The snake of a train claims passengers
trapping them between closed doors,
only allowing them to face their own misery
some escape with headphones
others just stare into the darkness with sunken eyes and drunken sighs

Walking home see the gum wrappers and dead leaves skid around
the soles of your worn shoes
Graffiti garage doors only display discarded art
And when the night is still
you can feel the empty consonants and vowels crawl up your legs
forming the unspoken words from unwanted voices that lay

Hidden under our feet.
In my creative expression class we read Italo Calvino's *Invisible Cities* and then we had to describe NYC, so this is just my piece. Hope you enjoyed it.
Victoria Mar 2014
This view from my window
Its why I moved in

This view from my window
Has kept me in

This view from my window shows a world of hope
This view from my window disables me to cope

This view from my window allows me to stay inside
This view from my window
Allows me to hide

From the ouside world
Im kept safe inside
But it is from my inside that I must hide

Im pushindg and trying to get up and out
From this view from my window
Please let me out

Incapacitated,  rejected, scorned , and deprived
Of what this view from my window has on the other side
i Sep 2014
broken fingers,
broken hearts
and lost loves
who will stay
forever hidden
in manhattan.
Rose Flows Sep 2014
Hudson to my right
nyc to my left
leaves up above
grass under my sneakers
perfect amount of chill the air
not a chilly chill
just a chill sorta chill
tea in right hand
apple in left hand
no! bagel in left hand
forget the apple
take a bite
take a sip
look at the view
&repeat
I tried to refrain from writing a Fall themed poem, but I couldn't...because Fall in nyc really is as beautiful as they say.
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