Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
mûre Oct 2012
I see a Woman eating her muffin
looking at Man who is looking
looking into the depths of his paper cup
and the wrinkles and rivers on the back of his hand
thinking When did I get those?
Coffee Cup looking at the blue bin in the corner
Coffee Cup thinking Well, I guess this is how it goes

The secret force that wrenches eyes upward
from the secret morning monologues
happens like electricity happens
and Man sees Woman's eyes and frowns
and can't tell whether they are blue
or brown.

Crumbs are on her lap.
Man doesn't notice but Woman thinks he does
Moving imperceptibly and not wasting a calorie
she flutters her hands over the warm loaves of her thighs.
Man notices an ephemeral strain Simon and Garfunkle and
becomes aware of a softening within his sternum and
electrons slowing, softing, into a May spring aesthetic
Woman rubs her finger which does not have a ring
and Coffee Cup wonders if it will still
have sentience within the bin or if the world
with all its broken beauty and mornings and warm hands
will suddenly just stop everything?

I look at my keys. The sort that express, not
the sort that open doors and drawers
but even these, time to time, will
fall beneath the wooden floors.

Man pulls his long coat off the back of his chair
without ceremony rises and turns to go
leaves his cup on the table for a coffee girl to attend to
and exits as the rain turns to snow.

Woman sits. And sits.
Woman might order another pumpkin muffin.
Her knees are chilled, watching her pinkly from the edge
of a pencil skirt like children's faces from a blanket.
A moment later she makes that same comparison
and laughs internally without gesture or sound.

And Woman looks around.

Woman smiles. Not because of Man or muffin
or the secret life of a Coffee Cup
but because she is Woman
struck lively by the sudden meta
fleeting passage of The Bigger
and her eyes, definitively brown
spark like bumper car antennae
and struck by magic, the same magic electricity
for an irreversible instant meet mine.

And for one fourteenth of a moment
Woman knows Me with all her life.
I shiver and she lobs me the red bean bag
and I hold the image in my mind like
a relic of the living divine.

The Bigger, the morning
the secret was mine.
Lou
stars crinkle under our feet
bouncing off the blades of moonlit grass
carried downstream in the canal behind
my house
I walk down memory lane with my brother Lou
Lou lost it in his teens diagnosed schizoid
but able to function under guidance and meds
together we lug a cumbersome old wooden box
to the trash
gently I quizzed him
“do you remember us when we were little
on our sled all the snow and fun we had?”
Lou stares blankly into the night,
“I was never small, I was made 6 ft. 3 in.”
“but I have a photo of us”
again Lou denies that such a time ever existed,
insisting that he sprang full-grown
from the mind of some unknown madness
Christmas lights blink coloring his face
red then green
“That's alright Lou, I remember....”
whispering goodnight
I tuck Lou under the blankets
of my heart
and watch him trudge away
a small boy in a gray snowsuit


“Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you”


(Simon & Garfunkle, 1968)
SøułSurvivør Oct 2014
^¡^


at the edge of midnight
on the shoreline of a dream
a voice cries in the darkness
you can hear it scream

it cries out in anger
it cries but does not hate
simply said it rages
against a lonely fate

a message in a bottle
a human heart within
crashes on a shoreline
where a lover's been

they called her "crazy Mary"
but the voice remembers when
Simon and Garfunkle sang
"hello darkness my old friend"

Mary was so different then
when the poets sang
an oblique victim of a war
the leather church bells rang

above the cathedral
there's an angel flies, it's told,
with sooty smudges on the wings
of purest tarnished

GOLD


^¡^

(c) soulsurvivor
This is a poem written for
Midnights Voice
He is known by another
Poet name here
I must say that it was a
Pleasure writing this
I wrote it a while back
But wanted to
Repost it with his permission
I hope you enjoy reading it
bc Nov 2017
there's a *** of water on the radiator
steaming up the windows
in my tiny bedroom -
the one in brooklyn -
where i was too poor to live in a place with a bedroom door

he's here, and he says he doesn't mind the curtain

there's anonymity in city life,
an ease to being completely alone
while surrounded by people

flush,
with the chill from outside
and the thought -
just the thought -
of his hands on my skin
his skin on my skin

simon and garfunkle on his old record player
sounds of new york
two people,
one bottle of whiskey
how strange to be with someone,
who can make you feel so alone

touch me, please
jeffrey robin Jul 2015
)(

all lies and jests
But a man hears what he wants to hear

And disregards the rest

( Simon and Garfunkle / the Boxer )

""

HE SAID HE LOVED ME !
HE SAID HE LOVED ME !

BUT HE DIDN'T !

///

Oh ! Poor baby !
Such a sensitive write !
I can really relate to what you are feeling !

///
///

HE SAID HE LOVED ME !
HE SAID HE LOVED ME !

BUT HE DIDN ! T

THE TRAITOR !

//

Oh poor baby !
Men are like that !

Hang in there !

We are here for you !

Express yourself in words !

Your poetry is so sensitive

Keep writing !

///

HE SAID HE LOVED ME
BUT HE DIDN 'T

( THE TRAITOR )

SO I CUT MYSELF WITH A RAZOR BLADE !

//

Congratulations !

That took courage and certainly put him
In his place !

Such noble scars !

A lifetime reminder of your

Courage

And the purity of your love

Expressed so poetically

And an inspiration for us all !!

//

HE SAID HE LOVED ME BUT HE DIDN'T

AND HE LEFT ME AND BETRAYED ME

SO I CUT MYSELF WITH A RAZOR BLADE

AND THEN TRIED TO **** MYSELF !

///

You did !

How utterly poetic !

This is the most beautiful poem I have

Ever read !

I can relate to it entirely !

Keep up the good work

You are practically here now

With the rest of us !
( the BEST of us )

/:./

(?)

/:;/

(?)

/../

Hey

Haven't heard from you in awhile

How's it going !

//

Are you still there !

//

Hey
Are you still there ?
I dreamed I was rooming
With Simon and Garfunkle
They didn't seem to mind

                    Hope!
Sarah Murdock May 2011
Summer’s warmth presses upon Pennsylvania…

Her heavy hands
grasping for straws in her desperation to persist,

Her sun soaked lips
still weighing us down with breaths of humidity,

Are an easing into her uncomfortably, matronly palms
and the final sorrowing of a woman on the brink of “goodbye”…



The sky revolts against Summer’s refusing…

Her seasonal shifting
fighting back by growing darker, preemptively

Her shadows
cast on trees earlier enough to be noticed,

Are the silhouette of Fall
and a means of remembering why “time hurries on” in that
-Simon & Garfunkle “The leaves that are green turn to brown” manner-…

Autumn’s bold drapery
Atop the -piled high just to die- leaves
Leaves breathtaking impressions on the tips of tongues
As we watch their Phoenix like departure
Qualyxian Quest May 2020
Simon and Garfunkle
          on stereo
 Walt Whitman waking
      Not forsaking

— The End —