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SpiralDancer May 14
Jewelled lights
Inner city
Urban sunsets lookin' pretty
A Tower block rapunzel
hair spun from ghetto gold
15th storeys high
and the stories gettin' old
No knight is waiting
A million dreams are broken
the lift is out of order
Hope seems a foolish notion
Isolation is her captor
the city her disorder


Throwin' caution to the sky gods
She dresses in her armour
Advances down the stair well
Into inner city drama
On the 29 she takes a seat
looks straight ahead
Smile painted on.
The day she greets
At dusk again, in towered gloom
Moon illuminates her room
Stitching up torn, tired seams
of abandoned.
Long lost dreams.
Her heart.  
Already healing
Urban warrior forever
One day she'll leave this jungle.
Maybe. Who knows.
I spent years surviving the cold isolation of London in my early twenties.  Working, keeping afloat. I wrote this recently when I was working there and staying in my friends flat on the 15th floor in North London.  Epic and bleak and isolating.  Seems even more pertinent in lockdown!
See the eyes, through jagged trees
Humbly calling out to thee
And the damp eagle plea
Downy arms falling free

As breath makes no qualms
With the levity of psalm
And the soot between palms
Lies still in fearful calm

Orion’s sprightly pace
Shrouds the cratered face
As pearls fall without trace
Miss the ocean’s embrace

Neon ghosts surround
The orphaned mobile sounds
As empty fertile ground
Now bitter and profound

Within malignance, the smell of stale night
As blue and then amber engulfs the sight
Liz Rossi Mar 24
i took the morning train today.
hushed city streets and
sweater-grey skies,
clouds like milk in coffee.
a flurry of wings, silent strangers,
heads down, umbrellas up,
sunshine dreams and briefcases.

i took the morning train today.
left the city behind me,
grey walls and grey pavement
and grey concrete skies.
red buses, black taxis,
camera clicks and glinting lenses,
crumbling walls and lost tourists.

i took the morning train today.
watched as the city fell away
behind the horizon,
rain drumming on the glass.
somewhere, birdsong
and the glint of blue skies
beckons me home.
Liz Rossi Mar 24
an angel fell from the sky tonight.
he wandered the streets, wings trailing
(didn’t last long — do you know how
difficult it is, getting chewing gum
out of feathers?)

the angel squinted at the
pavement, the neon signs
and gold squares stamped into
the sides of skyscrapers. he
lifted his wings against the rain
and looked for his stars
but only saw the red light
of a passing plane.
'Can you explain to me what has become of us?'
the song continued
as if it was played to hurt me on that evening ride.

'not even pleading can save us'
the lyrics echoed  in my mind
it haunted me as I cried myself to sleep

I closed my eyes,
yet thousands of questions deprived me from my sleep
like what happened to the both of us?
can we get back?
did I fail to love you?
did I fail to recognize that we're falling apart?
was I not enough?

But no matter how much songs would I play
no exact lyrics can answer the queries
you've left in my broken soul
TJ Radcliffe Feb 9
I swear a good deal more when in the city
my wife observes as we two wend our way
along the street. The towers are kind of pretty:
walls of glass, yet blocking out the day
so down here on the sidewalk dreary shadows
are damp reminders of how far we've come
from towering trees, from open mossy meadows,
from ravens swishing by. Look, here's a slum
a block or two from banking towers and glamour.
I should not fault the place. Variety
is the spice, they say. But such a clamor
of humans challenged by sobriety!
Life here was once quite good to me, but now
I'm just a rustic, pining for his plow.
I live in a small rural community but was an urbanite for many years and recently was back in the city to see a (remarkable, wonderful) show, and my wife said within a few minutes of getting there, "You swear a lot more here." There's a reason for that. I'm at home in the trees. Among the towers, I can flourish, but it's a lot more effort.
Anastasia Jan 22
let's sit on top of the building
kiss under the lights of the city
look me in the eyes and tell me i'm pretty

take my hand and we'll walk along the edge
forget the day that we met
stay together no matter what we get

crowns of steel and headlights
we know we'll be alright
stay with me tonight

wind and hands in my hair
shining stars everywhere
running up the stairs

dancing on the fire escape
get it all on tape
buildings fade into blurry shapes
Sydney V Dec 2019
They blossom
up from the soil, in which  
they were first grown
on a different street
for no one, is planted here
the interstate.
Out from the floral spread
of the prosperous, Third Ward,
is a grievous sight
and I, am enraptured
by this scene in the city
of swollen summer loads  
and multi-storied canopy
that flourish, like the  
common wood violet.
I still exist. Been busy, but happy holidays!
Carlo C Gomez Nov 2019
The city that never sleeps
is also
The city that never dreams

Look out for future unrest!
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