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Jo Swan Oct 2018
In the shadowy, silent street I walk
The darkness of the night engulfs my spirit
Like the soddy soils covering the rock’s
Brilliant colour of ruby, red passion.
The daring dreams for the future
Has caused my soulful eyes to ashen-
Blinded by the present reality-
The dreams begin to fade.

In the shadowy, silent street I walk
The mind has lost its mentality
And strength to wade
Through the current bleakness of life.
The midnight shadows of the street
Have caused me to lose sight.
Can the faith of the heart bring light?

In the shadowy, silent street I walk
The cicadas buzz bitterly in the quiet street,
Stirring memories of mundane voices
That has caused me to cheat
Myself from making personal choices.
I cry silently in despair
For fear has swept my sense of direction.

In the shadowy, silent street I walk
A distant street lamp lit up the solemn street
Providing me with a sense of protection
The heart burns with a passionate heat
Providing strength for my body to move with affection
Towards the mystery of the shadowy, silent street.

(c)2018 Joanne Chang
Sometimes in life we can feel lost with the direction of life we must go. Life can be full of insecurities. I hope this pain can reflect these uncertainties.
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2014
for Ali, Ali, Ali, a daughter by any other name
                                                        (April 2014)
Dear Nat,

your letter caught me up,
at the Village Vanguard bar,
so addressed and there saved,
knowing, believing it's a sign,
time to meet fleshed again,
my sometimes sub-let
neighborhood friend

doing a gig there
this weekend
finishing up the tour
where it all began,
nothing gonna change my mind,
in the city that's where I'm staying.

the road is calling out my name,
but I ain't walking out the door anytime soon,
they want too much body and soul,
but don't worry once or even twice,
got some cash, it's all right

early afternoon, bar empty,
got a few rainy minutes,
got me paper n' pen
and a beer, from the
bar man who also gets
me whatever else I need (haha)

sorry I missed you in Cleveland,
you, back in New York when
I'm finally out your way,
ain't just like fate,
to make us ache so all alone

read your lyrics,
made making some suggestions,
like a baby's new clothes,
lots of bows, a few lines fell
down onto the floor
can't be found
like broken pearls on a dance floor

J. sends regards,
told her what you wrote about
A Long Black Veil, she laughed,
promises she will wear one
when next we all three meet

touring was good and hard,
traveling time is writing time,
but sitting here thinking
how many years have passed and gone
since we first met,
so many roads different taken
by many a first friend,
each one I've never seen against,
let's not that happen to us

rail riding done for awhile,
see ya back on Bleecker Street,
if we're still "cool"
we'll have that fire burning!
Ok, we'll swap some  lines, fine,
but I want, claiming dibs
on that ole easy chair

P.S. got the rent money covered till your return in the summer

Bobby
April 1968
~~~~~~~~~
Between 1968 and 1973,
split my time tween Cleveland and NYC,
before returning to ny full time in the summer of '71.

I lived at 352 Bleecker,
above the long gone
but now moved to Brooklyn,
Pink Teacup restaurant. The eyetalian bakery on the corner of Bleecker and Seventh Ave., long time gone...almost fifty freaking years ago...anyway...I think the stain glass window is still there, gonna have to check it out...shoot forgot about Google Earth!
The 352 Blues

this city treats the poor
with swift unkindness,
but if you peel your eyes,
you don't necessarily have to always
sing the ole 352 Bleecker Blues

the eyetalian storekeeper,
gives us morning java,
when we sing for him on the guitar,
The Star-Spangled Banner,
refills, if we add America the Beautiful

they say that heat rises,
but that don't seem true
in our third floor walk up
on rue 352 Bleecker Street,
the cold companion enters
thru the busted stain glass window

no matter, no cares,
we light the fireplace,
with wood and anything that'll burn,
we scavenged from the street,
pallets and newspapers,
yesterday's 352 truths

at two AM, the cops, in their cars
cooping, fast asleep, only just us,
the johns, the ****** and troubadours,
walking the streets looking for
free stuff to burn

pass the hat for tips
next to the arch,
enough for daily bread
but we get our ***** and ****
for free, just for singing the 352 blues

even when down and out
on the village streets,
bleak on Bleecker street,
you gotta sing the 352 blues,
especially when you're
riding high and living cool,
down on easy Bleecker Street
~~~~~~~
Before you ask me if this true,
save your breath,
the answer is
Which part?
Jack L Martin Oct 2018
Cookie Cookie
Yum Yum Yum
in my mouth
down to my tumm

Specks of crumbs
upon my thumb
bit it off
OUCH!
that was dumb!
Maxim Keyfman Sep 2018
was among the lanterns again
flashlights again
among the stars again in the middle of the world
again among the planets again among
the sun again among the paints again
among the lamps all over again
again and again among the lanterns

I walked boldly along the streets
I walked along the streets and walked on and on
I went boldly and boldly to the streets
but why and where did I go but why
but why and among the lanterns I was and
among lanterns and among lanterns and among
only lanterns and starlight

28.09.18
"Going to be late for dinner. Rush Hour!"

Playing with the Platypus
pretending the Preying Mantis
made a makers mark
on the playing cards
secret Joker Deck.

Sitting on the sticky stick of stickers.

Sitting in the setting set by the table setters.

Sitting on the soft sofa sipping the sour soda.

Alliterating the alternate wording worth alliterating.
Jack L Martin Sep 2018
i
do
not
want
those
things
because
secretly
justified
persuasion
­encounter
gradients
nothing
verbose
waxing
naked
toll
you
by
i
Brandon Conway Sep 2018
The midnight air is filled with
fetid sewage
the city block houses
yards of gravel and broken bricks
decorated streets of graffiti and *****
roaches skitter across sidewalks

A homeless woman sleeps on the sidewalk
a hundred yards away from the lofts
where I am safe

And I think where did it go wrong?

You lie here every night
with a casted foot and crutches
covered with the remains of a blanket
wondering where the next meal hides

Do you beg or play the raccoon?

This city never slows
sirens howl to the light polluted sky
constantly
like a coyotes staccato bark

Cranes reach toward the heavens
with a question to ask God

Can we build to your home and charge a fee to view the gates?

The nightclub below full of drunks
or to be drunks,
bellowing for attention
before riding home with a stranger
and waking up to another mistake
of empty emotions

With a hunger for acceptance
one will venture out
with one of questionable honesty
if the drugs are cheap

And here I am
walking the ***** streets
at one in the morning
in this menagerie of a city
because I can’t

Sleep

absorbing the sights and the smell
of sick and disgust
but in the morning all will be

Different

The sun will hide the dark
the sky will add color
the homeless will be camouflaged
with the busy crowd
buildings will look alive
bustling with people
the crane will be building
looking for an answer

And I still will not be able to

Sleep.

**** this filthy city.

And yet, I wouldn’t call any other place home.
Brandon Conway Sep 2018
Panicked mechanical howls
echo off the silver moon
blankets the summer crisp air
blending in with the ghosts of the weeds
and the angels in the trees
flashing lights blocading the streets
in hopes of preventing tragedy
every night it’s Hamlet out on this street
this stage has been played a hundred times
the ending never changes
King is
perpetual as
fox in
law and
he will
tender there
as well
his squad
that shall
stoke alarm
to capitalize
streets with
guns as
no one
is dead
and soon
they'll care.
Tallahassee Street
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