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Every time the subway lights go off
I close my eyes and listen to my cart speeding over the rails
What was it that you said, about the velocity of life ?
The one that carries the immigrant, the bible belt strapped and the intermittent traveler through the woven passage of a history they can see in the molding of the land.

2. I can’t quite remember
why I live life so fast,
but I feel (it)
the hill and the turning of the tracks

3. The trains are quite quiet here,
and few people talk.
It’s as though the lights were still off .
Andrew May 2017
In my neighborhood
Your hedge presses against my hedge
In my dreams
Your leg presses against my leg
In my neighborhood
People hate me
In your mind
You overrate me
In my neighborhood
****** burns the sorrow
With you
There's always tomorrow

Neighbors are the worst
They unquench
Labors of thirst

They're also the best
When it comes to people
They're the rest

If you could do me a favor
And not be my neighbor
I need you in my house
You're stuck in my head
You're my louse

Then the neighbors foreclosed my home
Morphing me into the roaming gnome
Does a homeless man have neighbors?
Like a wild dog
With no bone to savor?

It just breaks my heart
When people run each other off the road
With their hate filled cart

In my mind the roadblock is your face
Through the window I see the hate
We'll use my roadblock to erase
saige Mar 2018
no count-downs for birthday parties
no arm wrestles, no jump shots
no go-cart donuts
not even a snowball

where did we go?

blond hair
up to my shoulders
surrounded by jewels
some empty-paned picture frame
couple sprouts beneath a pine
saying "monkeys" for Grammy's kodak
red clay on your feet
pink frosting in your teeth
me, sheathed in my favorite shirt
"I'm the big sister!"
with a butterfly depicting
what I've yet to become

how wrong have we gone?

well, I'll be twenty
once spring rolls around
and brother
you're not far behind
I can't tell time
to change its mind
but I promise you
it won't be changing mine
from the photographs, scrapbooks
I'll forever feel your laughter
just like goosebumps
the brail I'm reading into
let's gaze past glares
straight through white sunbeams
spiking your brown eyes
twice as deep as mine
the truest shades
on the face of the earth
to this very
foggy day
this mirror, this moment snagged
before shutters snap
and capture us, splatter us
on matte paper, or cell screens
with brown hair
up to your shoulders

way to go, little brother
but I'm still keeping that tee
because the only thing
I've always been proud to be
is your big sister
Marilyn Heavens Oct 2018
Twenty third June twenty sixteen
The biggest vote we’d ever seen
Results are in and Brexit win
and many say it’s such a sin
Those who voted not to leave
This news they just could not believe

Sore losers showed their  bitter anguish
soon from Europe we would vanish
Let’s vote again remainers say
'No vote again' says Theresa May

Our country voted in or out
and voted out without a doubt
The apple cart tipped on its head
Britain in Europe would soon be dead
Now Brexit was born the following morn.
This beautiful kingdom from Europe be torn

Remainers are mad while leavers are glad
Great Britain is out there is no doubt
So shut up remainers, accept what is done
We voted together and Brexit won
What a pretty holiday
I wish that I had gone. No regret tho,
But what they did was to post the location on their phones?

What amazing friends they claimed they have
but actually these people are new friends but no idea of who they really are.

What a funny club night
I felt left out but Is all good am not flirting, there could be a better way to clear all the pain.

What a lovely boyfriend she said,
He bought me lovely gifts
but i tell you he’s repaying you for all his sins?

Wonderful wedding pictures
for everyone to see, but if something accidental happens it could make you bleed

happy shopping, family
filling up a cart in front of their kids. Do you know the parents are fighting in their heart ?

Happy, smiling faces. I wonder why they have to force a smile on the screen of their phone

Lovely pictures she said’
How long do you hold yo breath and how many pictures did you take to make you look your best?
Esmena Valdés Oct 2018
A blank box.
The antistrophe of the only thought of your dwelling repeats.
Your riveted eyes
like silkscreens of my harsh summers continue to ******* me,
they are imprinted to my seemingly abandoned, seemingly rotten consciousness.
I saw you reach the ledge
and then jump into the sea.
The sea sounds beautiful and is beautiful but also: The Sea

Down there your coastal effects
lay within the wave that pacifies
two legged sharks,
and the waters swallowed you
with voracious hunger.

Everything became withered,
the death cart arrived.
It came to take you to the great party of the longest night.
The beasts followed their pulse leading your way
to the black sun's of cosmo
giving way to perpetuity.

A blank box.
The antistrophe of the only thought of your dwelling repeats.
Only the sea witnessed you flight
and now you are The Sea.
mariamme Apr 2018
Out of the land of heaven
Down comes the warm Sabbath sun
Into the spice-box of earth.
The Queen will make every Jew her lover.
        In a white silk coat
Our rabbi dances up the street,
Wearing our lawns like a green prayer-shawl,
Brandishing houses like silver flags.
        Behind him dance his pupils,
Dancing not so high
And chanting the rabbi's prayer,
But not so sweet.
         And who waits for him
On a throne at the end of the street
But the Sabbath Queen.
         Down go his hands
Into the spice-box of the earth,
And there he finds the fragrant sun
For a wedding ring,
And draws her wedding finger through.
         Now back down the street they go,
Dancing higher than the silver flags.
His pupils somewhere have found wives too,
And all are chanting the rabbi's song
And leaping high in the perfumed air,
          Who calls him Rabbi?
Cart-horse and dogs call him Rabbi,
And he tells them:
The Queen makes every Jew her lover,
And gathering on their green lawns
The people call him Rabbi,
And fill their mouths with good bread
And his happy song.
for Marc Chagall
from Leonard Cohen's The Spice-Box of the Earth
Zachery Oct 2018
An inexplicable art
Its me running you over in a cart
Its driving a stake through your heart
Its me tossing at your picture a dart
Merciless
Timeless
Beyond my memory vault
Lies something thats my fault.
I dont know what
But it leaves a deep cut
My life is in a rut
Now its a haze
That leaves me unfazed
As I smile discretely
At the memory
Locked Away Deeply
Mementos
Mary Gay Kearns Dec 2018
Taking to the marshes
Holding my Brueghel
Book
His pictures show
Cruelty and indifference
I love him for that
For in cruelty is all
That goodness intended,
Gone bad
Just like a Chardin Apple
So in the painting
‘The fall of Icarus’,
Where all around there is
Indifference
We know
That this may have been us
Or may happen to us
When no one looked or cared.

And in ‘Hunters in the snow’,
The cart ran over
The girl went hungry
While others fun themselves
Ate and made merry
Others died from want.

In the marshes
They found him
Swept up from
The sea.


Love Mary xxx2018 december
✂✂✂✂✂
I'm accustomed to dwelling in a mountain mansion estate that has a
commanding panoramic view of verdant ancient forests & crashing
ocean waves. I need a room by 12 November. I'm desperate. I sleep
in a rusty dumpster with 2 negroes behind an abandoned Kmart & I
get 30¢ per pound for Pepsi cans for that I tote in my shopping cart.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2018
the intent, by accident,
a message in madness,
anger alone has no value and
uses energy in negative valence
to manifest,

that can't happen on accident,
only on purpose, okeh.

You gotta tip the balance
for anger to be used abs-

like,
totally un-fair abs,
such a gift, who gives…?  I meand abused, I'm confused…

absolute tip the balance to use anger,
never an accident, the intent

that's the message. All I got.
Now what?

Merry Christmas.

This is like VHS homemoviepoet try as he may he can't get away

Tinker-toys, oh Boy, a richochet peeiiing Mattel Itswell 30-30! WOW,

the kid across the street that got hit by a car last Christmas,
he got a go cart this year.

Everything is relative. me, as my old man, said to me.
Back then, late fifties, little desert town, middle'o'righthere
at the time.
My old man at Alamogordo, wit' Ferme 'n'them…

It's not history, I imagine it could be.

That kid did get a go-cart, it didn't help very long.

It's a thought. A message, I think, I thought it and now
you did, too. Sorta.

Cool, like olde times. Never real, always imaginable,
any way ya' wa'ah-ahn-em,
ya gotta ownownownem ommm

My God, it's Christmas time again, I can't remember
when it felt this way.

Did it? Ever? Frank Kapra, in the dark.
We held hands. You remember. Black and white. Right.

then, this is now, and much more joyous in a worldly joy
intended, I'm sure,
from the first

vibration of the chord twixt you and me,
we wish you amerry Chritmas, in deed.
Ameriment merely to see if the Christmas future geist is yet in business.
Spiritually speaking.
The President closed the post in Vologda.
There's one phone in the whole city.
On the big doors of the clinic
Boards are stuck in the fifties.

From the open windows of the hotel
The birthday girl screams.
In the shops near the station
Run by the Turks with the Vietnamese.

The traffic light hasn't worked for a while.
On him gloves clap.
Passing horse and cart.
The machine gun is under the birch.

Whether festive, or everyday,
I made my way between them.
Antifreeze, tangerine
The lantern was green and crimson.
Bare-faced, polished like a stone
gazing into pooling deformation,
rank with artifice
pulled as an oxon cart
over the furrows of time

The sighing heart
misted by sadness
is still full to bursting,
and saddled in well-worn pride

A moving face echoes
with spells yet-to-be-cast
and deeds complicit
in a mighty downfall

Joannes and Sarahs
polluted my wants and wishes;
several of them became ash
sticking to wet skin.
Terry Collett Nov 2018
Ingrid's mother
was found not guilty
of the ******
of her husband
and released.

Benny heard
from his mother about it
from the local paper.

Ingrid was living
with her sister
miles away.

Benny had only seen her
once since she went away.

Will they move back?
He asked his mother.

Don't suppose they will,
she replied,
probably move elsewhere.

Benny sighed:
he liked Ingrid;
he befriended her
when others wouldn't.

Her old man
had been a bully and abuser,
and Benny wasn't saddened
when someone
cut his throat outside
the public house
and left him there.

At least her mother
was free now;
he hadn't thought
she had done it.

He walked upstairs
to the flat
where they used to live;
it was empty now;
he assumed another family
would move in there.

He looked over balcony
at the Square below:
the milkman
was delivering milk
from his horse-drawn cart;
kids played
on the pram sheds
or played skip-rope
or rode bikes
round the block.

He missed Ingrid;
he guessed she went
to another school;
he wondered who
befriended her now.

He watched the horse
stop and feed
from a nose-bag,
while the milkman
delivered the milk
to doors below.
Benny and his friend 1957
Donall Dempsey Sep 2018
THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE.

The red door of No.16
North Frederick Street

slams behind him as he
enters into this newly minted

morning
sunshine so thick

one feels like a fish
swimming through it.

Sunlight spangles
a tiny puddle

turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish.

Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of the visible."

He turns right into Upper
Dorset Street

pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"
out of the man who makes the false

teeth!

Then turning left into
Eccles Street

giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES.

Here in its run down state
though still shining in his fictionality.

Soon they will knock it
down and what will the tourists

do then
poor things.

Sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble

and the door will live again
some streets away again.

Ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of the visible."

I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly

(  Philomena her name is )

a cottage cheese with pineapple
on a Weetabix base.

It is a 16th of June
somewhere in the 80's

as I retrace my own earlier
Joycean footsteps.

Rat-a-tat-tat on Bloom's door.
"Are ya there Leopold?"

But the bold Leopold
doesn't answer.

The 16th of
forever I am

"...walking through it
howsomever."

The sun smirks
as such Joyceisms.

"I am, a stride of  a time.

A very short space of time
through very short times of space."

A horse and cart as if
from the past

saunters by
timelessly.

Ah "...the ineluctable
modality of the audible."

My Molly who is really
a Philomena

spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert

into her
and yes she says

mmmm...yes....mmmm

Yes.
Physics over Metaphysics,
  the cart before the horse

The chisel praised, the sculptor blamed
  —the tool the icon sourced

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2019)
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