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Insha 2d
I dream of a day where I pack up and leave
somewhere far away in the heart of New York
where the only reason I can’t sleep at night
is because of the sound of the busy city
and not the sound of you breaking my heart
One day at a food shop,
I met a man selling cats,
For the money, he wanted to swap,
But I really wanted some bats.

"Got any bats?" asked I.
"For that's how I'll spend my money."
"No bats here!" said the guy.
He seemed to find it quite funny.

"We've got some lovely cakes,
I'll give you a very fine price."
"I'd rather have some snakes."
The man blinked rapidly thrice.

The man seemed exceptionally brainy,
And his manner was strangely amused.
He wasn't what I would call zany,
The great disdain he noticeably oozed.

Like others, he thought I was odd,
Some say I'm a bit beautiful.
Still, he gave me a courteous nod,
As if he thought I was plenty dutiful.

So in search of my goal I departed,
But before the food shop could I leave,
The man came running full-hearted,
"I can help you, I believe."

"Cats, bats, you shall find.
Cakes, snakes, you can get.
You must now open your mind,
And get down to New York Market.

So to New York Market, I decided to go,
In search of the bats, I craved.
The winds it did eerily blow.
But I felt that the day could be saved.

There were stalls selling apples,
Strawberry in many shades.
There were even stalls selling apples
People were scattered from many trades

I was greeted by a peculiar lady,
She seemed to be rather beautiful
I couldn't help thinking she might be quite shady.
I wondered if she was at all dutiful.

Before I could open my mouth,
She shouted, "For you, I have some bats!"
I headed towards her, to the south,
Past some cakes and cats.

"But how did you know?" I asked,
"Do you want them or not?" she did say.
Silently, the bats she passed.
Then vanished before I could pay.
As I walked away I heard a crackle
Or was it, perhaps, a hushed cackle?
Comment freely
as she
is great
and essentially
pink but
bristles her
tears in
white that
social reform
with brother
in arms
whether or
not manifesto
is establishment
in flux
that detox
is the
grabber's phone
a lawless night
Owen Cafe Jun 30
3 candles and a frozen margarita.
You take your time.
Though your glow could light the most distant fires.
So many words you do not speak. Just a smile with the passion of a poet on stage.
Iv yet seen such beauty the likes of you.
I think I'll keep that. Passionate music and fire playing second fiddle to the radiance that you bear in the most exquisite of ways.
The envy of an Autumn sunset.
You grace me Enamored.
Jonathan Moya Jun 12
At lunchtime pigeons and pinstripes dance with Rockette syncopation in front of Radio City
following the lead of thirty balloons encased
in vinyl tugged down the 50th Street station.

A chauffeured limousine pops out
a freshly groomed and leashed Pomeranian
seeking reunion with her dowager owner
getting purple locks and cuticles nearby.

At the columned entrance of Manhattan Bridge
two lovers kiss at the Canal Street stoplight
while a Vespa owner stops near the pedestrian
walk to hitch the love of his life in full stride.

Black children in bowlers and their Sunday finest
share a car in the Connie Island Cyclone
with Hasidic eyngls from Avenue J
carefully protecting their yarmulkes.

In the South Bronx the children of 136th Street
practice belly flops on an abandoned mattress
before chickening out on the adjacent kiddie pool
decorated with aqua waves, clown fish and mermaids.

The Monday field trip will transport ten
young Harlem poets to the Schomburg Library
to eulogize when Maya Angelou and Amiri Baraka
danced a jig on the ashes of Langston Hughes.

One will write a Christmas story about the time
Richard the reindeer took the Roosevelt Island
tram to bring  presents to the orphans
after Santa’s sled had fallen apart.
I am awake.


Blood's rushing through
My eyes
They make me whole
I was in deep, deep


Deep slumber, but

The sunlight'***** me and
I'm going home

To New York
Where beasts are made
And fantasies come bearing

gifts and utter losses, but
it's exactly why we thrive

We **** heads and shout at peace
The traffic at 45th street
hot dog stands filled with dreams
Lonely writer in her sweats

Coffee shops and yoga pants
people who live in zombie land

But, don't you worry my dear
New York
I'm awake now
Lemme hear you roar
Chase Graham Mar 23
Standing up straight
but like falling through door
after door after open
cellar door,
bodega cashier
men who know me only
as the sad and lonely two
AM bacon egg cheese
two bud light  
guy who seems off
but leaves a tip,
this trip through new york
can't be more than delirium
wrapped in tin foil
and forgotten dreamscapes.
Where are the mountain vistas.
a shower
abaft made
a soul
in Penn
Yen then
wrest my
heart there
when thunder
chicken cue
the race
and ready
in Watkins
Glen they
sped into
heaven in
the finger
lake alas
a race in new york
AvengingPoet Mar 17
A small piece
Of Americana
Maybe it isn’t all that bad

I live for it
I’m indoctrinated by it
I thrive for it
But each day is a darkening challenge
In This American Dream

I’m told I can go my own way
But is it all a lie
Told to us on digital screens
That make us shake and ache
Like a man looking for another dose

Cliches and buzzwords
Ones and zeroes
America, were you ever there?
God, I sure don’t know

I hear the art and culture
The music of New York and Texas and California
The comic fantasies of Marvel and D.C.
Your writers of fictions
And your Hollywood Dream Factory Machine
But do I pull myself up by the bootstraps
Or simply check my Twitter again?

But it probably doesn’t matter at all
I’m glad you’re here, with your vast land of religious zealots and cultural pockets

Everyday I hate you
Everyday I love you.

God Bless The USA
Patrick longed
for Deo
and shared
a wafer
and where
we'd detail
a hamlet
to spite
a hornet's
nest with
a sparrow
on the
hedgy ledge
on the
south shore
and trump
New Yorker
a day in new york
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