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Ston Poet Dec 2015
Uhh..,I'm just gonna **** around on this one, lights, camera, action *****..yoo,Young Ston, of course it's still gone be dat real ****.. Day trill spit..Yeah That unbelievable **** dawg..my ***** you should already know Dat tho dawg..
Let's go..(Uhh2)..(Yeah2)..

(Lights, Camera, Action3),we filming , we back Yeah, we back man..(Yeah2)..(Lights, Camera, Action3)..Yeah we filming,..yeah we back in business again..Yeah we back man...(Uhh2)..(Yeah2)..(Light Camera Action2)
Yeah ***** we back to filming , no acting..This is a true story yeah a documentary of a young *****, that was broke once, but used his mind to get up outta the struggle...Yeah Young Ston,..Uhh let's get it cracking..(Lights Camera Action2)..Lights Camera Action *****..

Let's get it..Let's go..Let the cameras roll & dont stop filming at all,..Lights ,Camera, Action dawg..Uhh OFTR we ready for whatever, ***** we building an empire, & a palace to relax , smoke & Trap at my *****, let's get back to business, Yeah..(Lights, camera, action..
3)..ain't no stopping, no quitting.. **** all of them doubters *****, they even more disappointed & mad now ****..they shoulda stayed on they hustle instead of waisting time being on my **** dawg.. Ayo.., I came outta no where so prepared like the attack on Pearl Harbor, blasting wisdom *****..**** the system *****, its very curropted..
They don't give a **** about us ******, They just want us trapped & blindfolded, but OFTR we breaking free from all of this corruption,..Uhh..
(Lights, Camera, Action3)

Forget listening to these other ****** music they wack to me, they with the gay agenda, They hypnotizing & brainwashing the youth mane..so forget worshipping those faggets, they ******* **** & bending over just to get a check,...Only Jesus gets my praise..Aye man..
OFTR, no we ain't kissing nobody ***, **** the white man, he's Satan, **** a major deal, I don't need that, Naw *****..I'm bossing myself, forget Bossing around my *****, we all bosses man, I'm helping my ****** out that's tryna get wealthy, my ***** ain't nothing selfish about OFTR, all we ever do is help the people, **** being a celebrity *****, OFTR we all leaders my *****, let's get back to the action..Yeah..Yeah..Aye..Uhh
(Lights, Camera, Action..
3)..***** get to filming..aye

Only Real ****** get the privilege to **** wit me, I only hang wit (The Family2)..is my security yo my ***** if you don't like me then  stay from round my way..& if you talk bad about my team then you are attempting to get hurt mane, just stay away Cuhz, you dealing wit real gangsters man, no movie, but you can call this The Rise of The ****** Disciple, Imma young ***** that made his own way Yeah..
I be thuggin everyday, I go gangsta on these beats, I be gangsta in these streets, Imma real *****,Imma Poet, Imma legend, Yeah I'm more than a rapper *****, I'm the Streets Preacher, Yeah mane..(OK
3)..cool,..Let's do it..Uhh..

(Lights, Camera, Action3)..we filming, Yeah (lights, camera, action3)..***** we back, Yeah ***** we back in business man, Yeah we back to filming again, Yeah we back , *****,Yeah we  back in business man..(Yeah ***** we back3)..in business again..Aye..
lights , camera, action..yeah (Lights, Camera
2)..action..Lights , Camera, Action..

/(Lights, Camera2)..action../2

(Yeah ***** we back3)..in business..
Young Ston OFTR
(Yeah *****
3)..(Yeah*2)..Uhh
stonpoet.tumblr.com
Cameron Boyd May 2016
Where do we go when the lights go down
what do we do in the dark
when there's nowhere to go
and nowhere to play
save for monsters in our heads.

don't turn the lights on baby,
don't turn the lights on now,
the nights not over
and i'm not ready
for you to see me
while I'm playing with
monsters in my head.

look away dear
please hear me now
I'm not always like this
not always not like this
please
don't ask me to change
I don't know what i'd
leave behind anyways.

who am I
who am I to you
who are you to know (that)
what you think is true.

I guess I am just what you made me
what you parade me 'round to be
but after dark
when the lights go down
and there's nowhere to go
and there's no one to play
'cept the monsters in my head...

...do I feel at home,
with the
cold
sweats
shivers
fingernails in my neck

the eyes that are watching see me at my best
the voices tell me (that) it's somebody's worst.
-still,
tough love is true love and no one pushes harder,
the monsters are the only ones who push me to be better.

don't turn the lights on baby
don't turn the lights on now,
the night's not over
and i'm not ready
for you to see me
while i'm still working on
just who
I really am.

---

Cause i'm a monster baby
a monster now
turn the lights on if you want to
I'll cast a shadow down

you'd better be ready
for what you're 'bout to see though,
the voice in your head
is only faceless in shadow

(if) you wanna see your fears
then you wanna bring up the sun
and if you want them to be real
just gotta look them in the eyes

oh, turn the lights on baby
please turn the lights on now
the night's not over
and you're not ready
the dawn isn't coming
you'll never be ready

I've been in the dark for so long
do I even have a face?
haven't seen myself since I was someone else
do I even have a face?

turn the lights on baby
turn the lights on please
I've got to know if I am still here
I cannot tell if I am real.

Turn the lights on baby
turn the lights on now
I've got to know if I am still here
I cannot tell if I am real.

Turn the lights on baby
turn the lights on now
turn the lights on baby
turn the lights on.
Mark Kelley Feb 2019
“The Lights”

The lights are shining through your heart
They carry you away
Looking down through dusty dunes
You  know you’ve heard them say

    The lights

The lights are shining through your mind
You hear the distant roar
They lead you down a lonely road
You’re never really sure, but it’s

  The lights

Have you seen the lights ?

  They’re staring in your eyes
Looking through your helpless soul
Kissing you goodnight


       Have you seen the lights ?

They’re carrying your dreams
Giving you another chance
Seems just like it seems to be

      The lights

The lights are shining through your past
You feel them once again
They lead you into yesterday
And bring you back again

    Have you seen the lights ?
                  
They’re reaching in your soul
Tearing at your history
Left you there alone

Have you seen the lights ?

They’ve taken all you have
They left it on some mountaintop
And they’ll never give it back

Have you seen the lights ?

The lights are shining through your heart
They carry you away
Leading you down dusty dunes
You  know you’ve heard them say

    The lights
  Have you seen the lights?
Andrew Parker Jan 2014
City Lights SLAM POETRY
1/21/2014

Look momma,
out the airplane window.
There's city lights,
they're pretty,
but what they really mean you wouldn't know.
Las Vegas, ain't it beautiful though.

But oh, you see,
the city captures me
and keeps me held up at night
lacking fright
as the city sees my drunken might.

Because sometimes I get a little lonely,
and sometimes I wander.
But most times it's irrelevant,
I'm just the big purple elephant,
in the room,
that nobody wants you to see.
Because that side of me,
is in you just as much as in me.

Just wonder, have a little wander,
View tomorrow fonder,
maybe we'll strike thunder,
or settle for down under,
the ****** dancer,
make your moves romancer.
Tell me it's the season,
but you don't need a reason,
to put your body out there,
feel the warmth of cold stares.

You see it's these city lights,
they keep me trapped in the night
of Las Vegas,
And I know it sounds heinous,
but please could you come save us
from the city lights,
before they eat us tonight.

So maybe
we could go somewhere
Save our money
get the hell outta here.
Instead we stare
into those city lights,
oh so pretty.
Oh so mesmorizing,
oh so ******* gorgeous.

He'll take your wallet,
pick your pocket,
kick your door in,
though you locked it,
take your money,
you're in need
not just of some
but of everything
that's not in Las Vegas,
but we're not that shameless, are we?

Sometimes we do things,
we don't want the world to know,
Sometimes I think,
I'm my own private show,
with the freak side attraction,
maybe get reaction
split a fraction to know
that one *** and another ***
don't make a rake
just a couple flakes
that fall down
that fall down
that fall down
and break,

under these city lights
I don't think we can make
it out of here alive.
We just crumble,
and slip through the cracks,
as we try to survive,
can't work a 9 to 5,
because we're lazy
and we do drugs
and we hate stuff
and we have ***
and we **** up
my life
ain't it nice
to live in Las Vegas
and see the city lights?
as they keep me trapped in the night?

Until I die,
Nothing leaves Las Vegas huh?
Have any of you seen the movie Leaving Las Vegas?
You should because it's famous,
not just because Nick Cage is,
but because his character was nameless,
or might as well been,
could you tell me
more than just his story?
Of a washed up, pathetic alchie and a *******?
His name was Ben Sanderson,
but that's not the point you're still missing.
His character was based on a real person,
At first I thought his name was John O'Brien,
the writer of the novel,
who shot himself.
But we dig a little deeper,
and find this message steeper
than we had imagined,
the real victim's been hidden,
in plain sight,
under these city lights.

*******, druggie, you don't know what I see,
on that airplane,
through the window
there's just something
that don't show,
but it's in the spotlight
of these city lights,
it's those people,
dying while still alive,
alcohol in their arteries,
could be you
and could be me,
trapped in the night,
by these city lights,
but you'd never know,
because what happens in Vegas,
stays in Vegas,
but they don't tell you why,
it's these city lights that keep us alive.
We need them to struggle to survive.
This is my first Poetry SLAM piece.
ekelhaft Jan 2017
Lights on,
Lights off.
Stared in the mirror,
But could never see clearer.
Lights on,
Lights off.
Prayed for the burden to get lighter,
Got all but none to make it feel better.
Lights on,
Lights off.
Tried to lay it off my head,
Got too carried away by it, instead.
Should've plugged the headset when they started talking;
Should've left the words to rot when I knew where they were going;
Should've shrugged it off because it wasn't my business,
Now I can't accept anything but brash and reckless.
Lights on,
Lights off.
Should've done it,
Should've tossed it.
Lights on,
Lights off.
Had to put the lid,
But never did.
Lights on,
Lights off.
Never the path had been so light,
Lights on,
Lights off.
*I just haven't been myself tonight.
It wasn't the details but rather the distraught
S G Arndt May 2016
When the lights fade
Will you be there for me
When the lights fade
Will you be there for me

Girl
Sometimes all these lights fade
Really showing off
All the problems I made
Inside my world with you
All these lights fade
Oh yeah

When the lights fade
Will you be there for me
When the lights fade
Will you be there for me

I'm begging will you be there for me
I need something that you have
Yeah
I need it here for me
You see these lights have faded over me
But what you don't understand is that
I never liked the spotlight anyway
But please

When the lights fade
Will you be there for me
When the lights fade
Will you be there for me

Girl, when the lights fade

Please be there for me
Yeahhh
When the lights fade
Baby please

Will you be there for me
Cause
I need you there for me

☁️
Crestfall Jul 2017
Sleepless Nights,
City Lights,
Keep me awake,
But don’t let me choose the sleeping pill to take.

Sleepless Nights,
City Lights,
Cloud my mind,
Render me blind.

Sleepless Nights,
City Lights,
Invade my thoughts,
Never let me connect the dots.

Sleepless Nights,
City Lights,
Never let me go,
Never let me recall what I owe.

Sleepless Nights,
City Lights,
I’m afraid of the dark,
But I never want to see a spark.

Sleepless Nights,
City Lights,
Shut my mouth,
Or else my luck will fly south.

Sleepless Nights,
City Lights,
Strip me bare,
Keep me aware.

Sleepless Nights,
City Lights,
Why am I alone,
So unknown?

Sleepless Nights,
City Lights,
You’re everywhere and always,
The only thing I can bear in this haze.
©Crestfall
Classy J Jun 2016
Jingling and hammering, lights out, better learn them manners boy before you get hung up like a banner. What you looking at, do we have a problem? Do you think yourself a lovely prince, but really you’re just a vicious ugly goblin. Stalking me, boy you must keep your distance from me, curtain has been called as you can probably see. You say you love me, but all we were in the end was a bunch of actors, and the way you be looking at me is like a hungry raptor. Just a piece of meat, nothing more than a dessert like treat, the tension is growing and I just can't stand your lusting heat. Lights out and I’m so terrified that you are near to me, it's like I’m having a nightmare in Elm Street because you’re really starting to scare me. This was only a play, but you keep on playing, foam is coming out your mouth like a rapid dog, and i just keep on praying. Oh lord help me, I’m too young to get run down by this sick freak, feeling like bunny to a lion, just too **** weak. Lights out, crying out, needing help, running without out destination, just longing to get away, because it's not a good idea to stay stationed.

Lights out, get out the boxing gloves because this is going to be one hell of a fight. Are you all right, because here comes Freddy, get ready, running in a maze no time to run back for your teddy. Demented, clown’s is this IT? Friday the 13th; aint no escaping this ****. Oh the horror, oh the terror, coming at me through many different layers. Its not just men, it can also be women, twisted sickness of those that didn't grow up healthy in their dens. Life sentences of dark malicious sins, never ever will I give in, if I die I just hope I make it into heaven. Very conspicuous of these villains and villainesses on trial, we need to be putting down these rapid dogs that are so vile. Turning point, second chances, they made their choice, no need to let them out, these freaks don't deserve any more chances. Sorry if that coincides with your stance, I am sorry that I don't prance along this debate because to me this argument isn't worth a dance.

Lights out, crying out, needing help, running without destination, just longing to get away because it's not a good idea to stay stationed. Lights out, get out the boxing gloves because this is going to be one hell of a fight. After everything is said and done I will be the one who will win, play all your games like Saw and keep your mischievous grin but at the end of the day you won't win. Lights out, but my light won't die out, this is reality, all you got is one shot to get out. Leave while there is still time, whatever the situation you face whether it be stalking, domestic violence or whatever, be smart and leave before it can become a more dangerous endeavor. Find someone you trust to talk to about it when your ready, set up boundaries for yourself, so that things don't become messy and tangled up like spaghetti. Never stop fighting, never give in to these wretched humans, better educate yourself and others, so that in the future we can be healthy society of vibrant women and men. Just be careful, it can be a very cruel world sometimes, but I believe in do time if we stand together and help each other out, and then there will hopefully be a reduction in crime.

You don't have to stay trapped, you are not alone, their are so many programs out there that can help, you just have to phone. No judgment, no condemnation, just love and acceptance, you need to keep it together because you can't keep living your life unbalanced. Lights out, crying out, needing help, running without destination, just longing to get away because it's not a good idea to stay stationed. Lights out, get out the boxing gloves, because this is going to be one hell of a fight.
Amanda Kay Hill Jan 2017
Looking up at the
sky and seeing
the Northern lights
Northern lights
Northern lights
Looking up at the sky
and seeing the northern
lights and seeing the
beautiful colors up in
the sky it is
peaceful and calming
Northern lights
I love seeing the
beautiful colors like
purple, lime green,
pink and baby blue
seeing the cool up in
the sky is cool and
amazing northern lights
Northern lights
Seeing the mooses and
the northern lights
behind the mooses
© Amanda Kay Hill
8/16/16
Anoushka Jain Dec 2014
When you're lost and alone
And every bird has flown home
Just look in your heart,  darling.
And the lights will guide you Home.

The lights are those wishes,
Your mother packed with care.
The lights are those kisses.
Your sister blew in the air.

The lights are that stardust
Sprinkled in your cake.
Which your 10 year old brother
Took so much time to bake.

The lights are those silent tears,
Which roll down your father's cheeks
And the light of his grey eyes,
Looking forever, for the son he seeks.

The lights are the love your family and friends sent.
So whenever you're broken or by time, bent.
Remember all the wishes sent and the kisses blown.
Just look in your heart, Darling.
And the lights will guide you home.
Delusional Minds Mar 2015
Little lights,
Sparking more than interest in my eyes,
Little lights,
Come from somewhere I'd be scared to find,

Little lights,
Distract me from the horror in my mind,
Little lights,
Keep my eyes wide open with their shine,

Little lights,
Little lights,
Getting closer,
Intertwined,

Little lights,
Little lights,
Dwell inside,
A sinner's mind-
Sarah Ellis Apr 2011
Working at the amusement park is a grand old time.
There’s nothing like having to hide
In the ticket booth when you wanna smoke a joint
So your boss doesn’t find out and fire you.
Every ride has bright, multicolored lights
And this is how I waste my time away.

The closest bathroom is half a mile away,
Those Porta-Johns are full all the time
And always smell like Marlboro Lights
It’s where those teen brats like to hide.
A kid always asks for another toy gun from you
And immediately bends it all out of joint.

Jocks, barbies and snotty kids mill around this joint,
Throwing all their money away
Buying more and more tickets from you
Screaming, complaining, cheating all the time
And there’s no good place to hide
With all these obnoxious lights.

They’re poor substitute for big city lights,
They only illuminate this cheesy joint,
Don’t even let ***** gutters hide—
I’m surprised they don’t want to look away.
Cotton candy disappears in your mouth every time,
But you think it’s worth it, don’t you?

The only boy who ever liked you
Works across the park, beyond the lights,
But you miss him waving at you every time
Because some skeez is yelling, “Let’s blow this joint!”
And a mom drags her eight kids away
Screaming, “One more word and I’ll tan your hide!”

Why do the five-year-olds always play hide
And seek in the Fun House? “Hey, you!”
Where the hell are your parents? Go away!”
Finally Anna, who manages mini golf, lights
A gloriously white-papered little joint
And we smoke until closing time.

This is where I hide, and yet these lights
Are poor substitutes you know, for home, the joint
You tried to get away from, before you wasted your time.
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2016
artist working by candle light,
neon lights, coffee shop lights...

~~~

to, for & from SJR
~

this force,  
burnt soul kindling,
rampant urges that bow a man's
spine

write write rite right

consumption of the soul
straighten up, flex,
flex to the curvature of the Earths
invitation to

write write rite right

cast my eyes to the mountains,
from whence will come my help?

street prowler, heart growler,
Art Deco lampposts,
the mountain range of east seventy second street,
begs the baggers question,
each a post
begging each other,
from whence will come my inspiration?

lick the stubbled sidewalks,
fall down living in their caverned cracks,
light needed needy soft heated
orange and green pizza neons
say here,
if you see upon what be,
your homelands colors of veracity

from
candle light,
neon lights,
coffee shop lights.

all queries so queer,
so cheerfully answered
in the ***** air,
in warped woof of
city write lights

he goes home
in the dark of a green moon,
and its delighting inviting
moonlight,
he composes
what is his eyes have
decomposed into a single memory,

and is satisfied
unto sleep

praising the eyes,
light lidded, but eager closing,
that
had wisdom given
to observe
light various by which to

write write rite right




4/16/16
10:30am
nyc
artist working by candle light,
neon lights, coffee shop lights...

from a comment to me from
SJR

months ago, a title
  that lay fallow
until
I tilled
my city streets
Festivals of my
land are

Filled with

The brilliance of colors..
The elegance of attire..
The resonance of lights..
The flamboyance of richness..
Of
The essence of laughter..
The sense of happiness..
The fragrance of love ..
The immence feeling of Joy..
The exuberance of festivities..
The relevance of celebration..
The Perseverance of culture..

Its all about
My Motherland....
My India..

Yes !! Its that time of the year
When 1/7 th population of the world
celebrates
The Festival of Lights..
On the dark night of No Moon ..
The whole country is filled
with lights..
From earthen lamps and LEDs

To
Celebrate the win of
Good over evil..
To celebrate
The homecoming -
after the win..

The brightness of lights..
The purity of air..
The brimming faces..
The laughter echoes..
Elders, kids, adults
all come together,
To fill the land with
Sparkles and Divinity....

Diwali it is !!
Diwali it will be !!
The festival of love..
The festival of respect..
The festival of sharing..
The festival of caring..
The festival of loving..
The festival of giving ..
!!!

Sharing,
Caring,
Loving,
Giving....
The young kids rhyme..
We teach them by action,
That we want them
to remember...!!

Happy Diwali..
The festival of lights..!!
**
Sparkle In Wisdom
Nov 2018
#Sharing #Caring #Loving #Giving... Four golden words I taught my daughter very early in her childhood..!!
brandon nagley Jul 2015
When the music's over
When the music's over, yeah
When the music's over
Turn out the lights
Turn out the lights
Turn out the lights, yeah

When the music's over
When the music's over
When the music's over
Turn out the lights
Turn out the lights
Turn out the lights

For the music is your special friend
Dance on fire as it intends
Music is your only friend
Until the end
Until the end
Until the end

Cancel my subscription to the Resurrection
Send my credentials to the House of Detention
I got some friends inside

The face in the mirror won't stop
The girl in the window won't drop
A feast of friends
"Alive!" she cried
Waitin' for me
Outside!

Before I sink
Into the big sleep
I want to hear
I want to hear
The scream of the butterfly

Come back, baby
Back into my arm
We're gettin' tired of hangin' around
Waitin' around with our heads to the ground

I hear a very gentle sound
Very near yet very far
Very soft, yeah, very clear
Come today, come today

What have they done to the earth?
What have they done to our fair sister?
Ravaged and plundered and ripped her and bit her
Stuck her with knives in the side of the dawn
And tied her with fences and dragged her down

I hear a very gentle sound
With your ear down to the ground
We want the world and we want it...
We want the world and we want it...
Now
Now?
Now!

Persian night, babe
See the light, babe
Save us!
Jesus!
Save us!

So when the music's over
When the music's over, yeah
When the music's over
Turn out the lights
Turn out the lights
Turn out the lights

Well the music is your special friend
Dance on fire as it intends
Music is your only friend
Until the end
Until the end
Until the end!
Francis John Jul 2018
Lights in the Sky,
Lights in the Sky,
How many have died,
For these lights in the Sky?

A web of familiar photos,
Flashing before my eye,
A bundle of lights are flashing,
Flashing throughout the sky.

Noisy lights bashing,
Crashing through my eye,
These lights aren’t dashing,
Their sadness is masking,
while mashing up the sky.

Today, like many others,
We seek lights flashing in our eye,
To remind us of our strength,
Yet strength is hard to come by.

Unity and tranquility,
Yankee Doodle, do or die,
So keep igniting these lights,
As they dance throughout the sky,
As my eye sheds another tear,
on this wonderful night in July.
What does this mean to you?
lionheartlion Nov 2016
It was a neutral, fair weathered, mid October Friday night in downtown Raleigh, the sky painted with stars, but barely visible as lights are strewn out everywhere, glittering as they are draped across buildings to create a corner hidden from the rest of the world. There are also lights from the many expensive cars lining the already tight streets; Chrysler, Infinity, Volvo, BMW, but also there’s an array of Hondas and the Chevy I am currently riding in to get there myself.  The lights continue to follow my evening as the holidays are approaching, accompanied by Christmas lights hanging from local breweries. The skyline is made up of buildings mimicking an array of Christmas trees on a Christmas tree farm in December; one my favorite times of year.

The spirit of the air is carefree as people gather to unwind from the week before and have a good time with whomever they are with or alone. The variety of people is similar to that of Candy in a candy store; all there for the same purpose, but different in minor ways. Groups of friends occupying the sidewalks outside of restaurants, breweries, dessert bars, coffee bars, boutiques, and galleries. Hipsters walking proudly and dancing in the streets owning who they are in their hometown or possibly visiting to experience the uniqueness the beautiful city has to offer. Most people dressed their best to welcome the night before them and enjoy the company of their friends, walking around to whatever comes their way.

The atmosphere is quiet, peaceful, and chill but the night is nothing short of alive just like the people I experience. Young couples and individuals line the streets exuberating their young lively spirits into the air as they exhale smoke from their cigarettes. The streets are also lined with a couple individuals that seem a little sketchy, but that’s just because they keep to themselves and walk alone, not effecting the safe atmosphere Raleigh exuberates. Everyone seems to be focused on only who they came with, concentrating on what they will do that evening. My plans included dinner at The Pit, one of the greatest BBQ places I have ever been in my life.

The first place I went to this evening was a Chocolate Shop called Videri Chocolate Factory with the most intriguing vibe I have possibly received upon coming into a store. There are lights strung from the ceiling and a glass case containing expensive, gourmet chocolates made in house. As I continue to walk around the store there is a whimsical feeling I get when I notice the coffee bar and more Christmas lights hanging around and intricate glass cups behind the counter. Continuing down the corridor there is a large glass window displaying where the chocolate is made, making the experience even more real. As I continue to look around the store I notice most of the people are middle aged to older; the people with money. The chocolate in the store is not cheap, but I think most of the people who come to downtown Raleigh are also paying for the experience.

Upon leaving the shop I notice the outside of the store and this is one prime example I think of when I think that people physically impact the place in which they live. The picture shown above of the chocolate shop mimics so much of the personality of Raleigh that I have noticed. The store is made of bricks on the outside that you can tell have been there for a really long time, but displays a modern, exciting font and the final touch of bright white lights adds a perfect finish to the display of the store. The people of Raleigh (or the ones I have noticed the three years out of living here myself) tend to migrate towards vintage, old things and appreciate the beauty of unique sights that make you feel special and unique yourself upon going there.

Another key factor in the imagery of this shop that reminds me of the people of Raleigh is the artsy aesthetic that the door holds with the lights. There are so many art students who consistently go to downtown Raleigh and they are a part of what makes the atmosphere so bright and exciting. While the people who visit downtown Raleigh are looking for those vintage vibes and artsy aesthetics they are also incredibly modern much like the font the door holds. They are caught up on what is currently in style and trend setters themselves, but interpret it in a way that fits them personally. This to me is the only thing that people of downtown Raleigh have in common; they are old fashioned, vintage, modern, and unique all at the same time, perfectly mirroring the city in which they live.
An excerpt from a paper I'm working on
Me and the boys
Getting the ****
Sparking some blunts
Red Lights on a hill

Out on the town
Crew lookin' fresh
Get blazed in a car
Red Eyes in a bar

Talkin and walkin
Buddy's being a *****
Didn't see it coming
Red Lights down the road

Buddy had his blunt
Car threw him up
But we're way too high
Red Lights in the sky

Red lights and blue
Ambulance coming
Buddy's still bleeding
Our Red Lights are running

Ran into the woods
Lungs on fire
Blunts on fire
We started a fire

This blaze was crazy
So we dipped the wood
And seshed again
Red Lights in the hood

Got my *** home
Three bowls to the dome
Still some kush in the pouch
Red Light on the couch

Years have passed
Since we all smoked grass
But I think about it still
Those Red Lights on the hill
Hoodlum memories : ^ )
Aman kumar Sep 2018
Hey lights

You look so bright

Just wanted too look, At you

And got lost

In these magical lights.

You and me

Just cherish this sparkling lights

And in the late nights Just starring

you with the

Stars of that magical lights.

Wants to hightlight

A rhythm speed

Of the car headlights, Though wise

men at their end know,

Dark is right.

Because

their words had forked, no

lightning They, do not go gentle

Into that good night.

Look what happens with

a love like that, It lights the whole sky.

And the skylight

lets the moonlight in!!!

With

the shining nights of the sparking

lights.
Edward Coles Jun 2018
Well my baby's blue
Almost all the time
She's a broken soul
Can't go out alone at night
And her tattoos
And her sweeter side
And all her bad advice
Under the neon lights

I've been broken down
I've been split in two
If I go straight with you
I'll be searching
For your face tonight

But if fates allow
If fates allow
Then we'll collide
Under the neon lights

If fates allow
There'll champagne
And endless wine
There'll be broken glass
In the morning
But we won't mind

Because we'll be sleeping late
We'll be wide-eyed
You'll be coming down
I know you'll be coming down
After the neon lights

After
The neon lights

Well I sold my soul
For a melody
I've sunk my teeth into
Every half-strung tragedy
And all these childish tantrums
Darling, they don't work on me

But you're most beautiful
Under the neon lights
Under the neon lights
Under the neon lights
A song I wrote
i went to see the christmas lights yeah i did it wss fun

you see we were traveling around using our good eyes

we saw a few and i took a few photos after i had bolognaise and a beautiful cake

and i talked about the great poetry slanm a place to go to read poems

ya see, mate i thought the lights were fantastic, dude

we were sitting in the car getting photos of each’

we yelled out merry christmas to all the owners, cool man eat my shorts

it was radically awesome how each house had a lot of things in their display

i was talking about the movie deck the halls with danny devito and mathew broderick

both go for the right to be the streets christmas man

i am a bit of a christmas man, i love the idea of santa coming for the kids

dropping in through the computer, delivering presents as he he goes

i played santa at vinnies in belconnen and i enjoyed making the kids very happy

one kid said why do you want to play santa, i think playing santa gives me fulfilment

and we sing we wish you a merry christmas a full boar ripper christmas

we wish you a merry christmas

i have a big dose of schizophrenia, which makes me look tired

but, dude, it doesn’t really bother me, because i am healing, ya know getting better

and as i sit down anywhere, in cars and at hone, my mind has a tired look

sometimes it’s good to fight it, with the fact that you ain’t really tired

it’s just the high dose medication i am on

and as i travelled around the christmas lights

i was saying i wanna do more and i wanna see more, without looking at the time

because it was getting close to 10,00 and the others were tired

but me, i was happy to sit in the back looking at the lights till midnight

in the future i would love someone to take me out to civic on new years eve, that’ll be cool, man

and i think of bart simpson when i say, do the bartmab do the bartman

everyone back and forward from side to side

ya see, the medication makes me calm, making me think of how i was back in the 1970s

when i was mucking with my family in wood berry, and being told to shove my nose to the wood

but i loved stopping for an ice cream at hexham oak factory

and looking at the lights tonight, reminded me of when we walked down georgetown at their lights

ya see i was thinking, tonight, in the back seat, i am a happy dude, and the lights are making me a party dude

i wanna party all night long

it was a great christmas party, duds
Man Lee Feb 2011
There is a man walking slowly in me
And he’s going through each room, one by one,
Turning on all the lights while passing by
Stripping the scenes with silver dollar eyes.
With a flick of his chicken bone finger
The kitchen lights violently flare up
To reveal tomato stains, upset
Stomachs, windows and broken table legs.
“Call the medic now!”– In the living room
The lights just found choked up throats and down town
Sticky red wine stains that bleat beat up
Little lambs for little peeps and little
Mistakes that become big scabs and big scams
That swallows the shallowest of waters.
Now the man who certainly loves the light
Is in the bathroom where the peeping brights
Gouge and grind the snuffed and lying young man
Till he is but the pulp and rind and juice.
“Where’s the medic?” Screams the mad running blood
“Where’s the ******* medic?” They cry again.
Now he tricks the porch light into being
Forcing it to leer upon this **** scene
Of a man barely living, most likely
Sleeping, with a garden hose stuffed down his
Gorgon throat seeping– weeping – all at once.
Where is he now? The man who loves the lights?
He’s walking to the impressive bedroom.
The lights wrestle and work the shadows down
Looking for the living, the last one home
Hiding away just in his underwear.
The man of lights opens the closet door
Just takes a look at the creature’s features
When he has finished, when he has remarked
He marks the skin with light, then tears it off.
He takes each muscle each tendon and bone
And throws them, crashing the walls as each falls!
Boom boom! Goes the muscle through the bathroom
Boom boom! Goes the bone through the kitchen
Boom boom! Goes the tendon through the bedroom.
Boom boom! Goes the heart through the rooftop
Boom Boom! Goes the head through the frondoor.

There was once a man that walked within me
And he has left the lights to burn on and on
© 2011 M.Lee
THE HOUSE OF DUST
A Symphony

BY
CONRAD AIKEN

To Jessie

NOTE

. . . Parts of this poem have been printed in "The North American
Review, Others, Poetry, Youth, Coterie, The Yale Review". . . . I am
indebted to Lafcadio Hearn for the episode called "The Screen Maiden"
in Part II.


     This text comes from the source available at
     Project Gutenberg, originally prepared by Judy Boss
     of Omaha, NE.
    
THE HOUSE OF DUST


PART I.


I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night!  Good-night!  Good-night!  We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride.  We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for?  Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.


II.

One, from his high bright window in a tower,
Leans out, as evening falls,
And sees the advancing curtain of the shower
Splashing its silver on roofs and walls:
Sees how, swift as a shadow, it crosses the city,
And murmurs beyond far walls to the sea,
Leaving a glimmer of water in the dark canyons,
And silver falling from eave and tree.

One, from his high bright window, looking down,
Peers like a dreamer over the rain-bright town,
And thinks its towers are like a dream.
The western windows flame in the sun's last flare,
Pale roofs begin to gleam.

Looking down from a window high in a wall
He sees us all;
Lifting our pallid faces towards the rain,
Searching the sky, and going our ways again,
Standing in doorways, waiting under the trees . . .
There, in the high bright window he dreams, and sees
What we are blind to,-we who mass and crowd
From wall to wall in the darkening of a cloud.

The gulls drift slowly above the city of towers,
Over the roofs to the darkening sea they fly;
Night falls swiftly on an evening of rain.
The yellow lamps wink one by one again.
The towers reach higher and blacker against the sky.


III.

One, where the pale sea foamed at the yellow sand,
With wave upon slowly shattering wave,
Turned to the city of towers as evening fell;
And slowly walked by the darkening road toward it;
And saw how the towers darkened against the sky;
And across the distance heard the toll of a bell.

Along the darkening road he hurried alone,
With his eyes cast down,
And thought how the streets were hoarse with a tide of people,
With clamor of voices, and numberless faces . . .
And it seemed to him, of a sudden, that he would drown
Here in the quiet of evening air,
These empty and voiceless places . . .
And he hurried towards the city, to enter there.

Along the darkening road, between tall trees
That made a sinister whisper, loudly he walked.
Behind him, sea-gulls dipped over long grey seas.
Before him, numberless lovers smiled and talked.
And death was observed with sudden cries,
And birth with laughter and pain.
And the trees grew taller and blacker against the skies
And night came down again.


IV.

Up high black walls, up sombre terraces,
Clinging like luminous birds to the sides of cliffs,
The yellow lights went climbing towards the sky.
From high black walls, gleaming vaguely with rain,
Each yellow light looked down like a golden eye.

They trembled from coign to coign, and tower to tower,
Along high terraces quicker than dream they flew.
And some of them steadily glowed, and some soon vanished,
And some strange shadows threw.

And behind them all the ghosts of thoughts went moving,
Restlessly moving in each lamplit room,
From chair to mirror, from mirror to fire;
From some, the light was scarcely more than a gloom:
From some, a dazzling desire.

And there was one, beneath black eaves, who thought,
Combing with lifted arms her golden hair,
Of the lover who hurried towards her through the night;
And there was one who dreamed of a sudden death
As she blew out her light.

And there was one who turned from clamoring streets,
And walked in lamplit gardens among black trees,
And looked at the windy sky,
And thought with terror how stones and roots would freeze
And birds in the dead boughs cry . . .

And she hurried back, as snow fell, mixed with rain,
To mingle among the crowds again,
To jostle beneath blue lamps along the street;
And lost herself in the warm bright coiling dream,
With a sound of murmuring voices and shuffling feet.

And one, from his high bright window looking down
On luminous chasms that cleft the basalt town,
Hearing a sea-like murmur rise,
Desired to leave his dream, descend from the tower,
And drown in waves of shouts and laughter and cries.


V.

The snow floats down upon us, mingled with rain . . .
It eddies around pale lilac lamps, and falls
Down golden-windowed walls.
We were all born of flesh, in a flare of pain,
We do not remember the red roots whence we rose,
But we know that we rose and walked, that after a while
We shall lie down again.

The snow floats down upon us, we turn, we turn,
Through gorges filled with light we sound and flow . . .
One is struck down and hurt, we crowd about him,
We bear him away, gaze after his listless body;
But whether he lives or dies we do not know.

One of us sings in the street, and we listen to him;
The words ring over us like vague bells of sorrow.
He sings of a house he lived in long ago.
It is strange; this house of dust was the house I lived in;
The house you lived in, the house that all of us know.
And coiling slowly about him, and laughing at him,
And throwing him pennies, we bear away
A mournful echo of other times and places,
And follow a dream . . . a dream that will not stay.

Down long broad flights of lamplit stairs we flow;
Noisy, in scattered waves, crowding and shouting;
In broken slow cascades.
The gardens extend before us . . .  We spread out swiftly;
Trees are above us, and darkness.  The canyon fades . . .

And we recall, with a gleaming stab of sadness,
Vaguely and incoherently, some dream
Of a world we came from, a world of sun-blue hills . . .
A black wood whispers around us, green eyes gleam;
Someone cries in the forest, and someone kills.

We flow to the east, to the white-lined shivering sea;
We reach to the west, where the whirling sun went down;
We close our eyes to music in bright cafees.
We diverge from clamorous streets to streets that are silent.
We loaf where the wind-spilled fountain plays.

And, growing tired, we turn aside at last,
Remember our secret selves, seek out our towers,
Lay weary hands on the banisters, and climb;
Climbing, each, to his little four-square dream
Of love or lust or beauty or death or crime.


VI.

Over the darkened city, the city of towers,
The city of a thousand gates,
Over the gleaming terraced roofs, the huddled towers,
Over a somnolent whisper of loves and hates,
The slow wind flows, drearily streams and falls,
With a mournful sound down rain-dark walls.
On one side purples the lustrous dusk of the sea,
And dreams in white at the city's feet;
On one side sleep the plains, with heaped-up hills.
Oaks and beeches whisper in rings about it.
Above the trees are towers where dread bells beat.

The fisherman draws his streaming net from the sea
And sails toward the far-off city, that seems
Like one vague tower.
The dark bow plunges to foam on blue-black waves,
And shrill rain seethes like a ghostly music about him
In a quiet shower.

Rain with a shrill sings on the lapsing waves;
Rain thrills over the roofs again;
Like a shadow of shifting silver it crosses the city;
The lamps in the streets are streamed with rain;
And sparrows complain beneath deep eaves,
And among whirled leaves
The sea-gulls, blowing from tower to lower tower,
From wall to remoter wall,
Skim with the driven rain to the rising sea-sound
And close grey wings and fall . . .

. . . Hearing great rain above me, I now remember
A girl who stood by the door and shut her eyes:
Her pale cheeks glistened with rain, she stood and shivered.
Into a forest of silver she vanished slowly . . .
Voices about me rise . . .

Voices clear and silvery, voices of raindrops,-
'We struck with silver claws, we struck her down.
We are the ghosts of the singing furies . . . '
A chorus of elfin voices blowing about me
Weaves to a babel of sound.  Each cries a secret.
I run among them, reach out vain hands, and drown.

'I am the one who stood beside you and smiled,
Thinking your face so strangely young . . . '
'I am the one who loved you but did not dare.'
'I am the one you followed through crowded streets,
The one who escaped you, the one with red-gleamed hair.'

'I am the one you saw to-day, who fell
Senseless before you, hearing a certain bell:
A bell that broke great memories in my brain.'
'I am the one who passed unnoticed before you,
Invisible, in a cloud of secret pain.'

'I am the one who suddenly cried, beholding
The face of a certain man on the dazzling screen.
They wrote me that he was dead.  It was long ago.
I walked in the streets for a long while, hearing nothing,
And returned to see it again.  And it was so.'


Weave, weave, weave, you streaks of rain!
I am dissolved and woven again . . .
Thousands of faces rise and vanish before me.
Thousands of voices weave in the rain.

'I am the one who rode beside you, blinking
At a dazzle of golden lights.
Tempests of music swept me: I was thinking
Of the gorgeous promise of certain nights:
Of the woman who suddenly smiled at me this day,
Smiled in a certain delicious sidelong way,
And turned, as she reached the door,
To smile once more . . .
Her hands are whiter than snow on midnight water.
Her throat is golden and full of golden laughter,
Her eyes are strange as the stealth of the moon
On a night in June . . .
She runs among whistling leaves; I hurry after;
She dances in dreams over white-waved water;
Her body is white and fragrant and cool,
Magnolia petals that float on a white-starred pool . . .
I have dreamed of her, dreaming for many nights
Of a broken music and golden lights,
Of broken webs of silver, heavily falling
Between my hands and their white desire:
And dark-leaved boughs, edged with a golden radiance,
Dipping to screen a fire . . .
I dream that I walk with her beneath high trees,
But as I lean to kiss her face,
She is blown aloft on wind, I catch at leaves,
And run in a moonless place;
And I hear a crashing of terrible rocks flung down,
And shattering trees and cracking walls,
And a net of intense white flame roars over the town,
And someone cries; and darkness falls . . .
But now she has leaned and smiled at me,
My veins are afire with music,
Her eyes have kissed me, my body is turned to light;
I shall dream to her secret heart tonight . . . '

He rises and moves away, he says no word,
He folds his evening paper and turns away;
I rush through the dark with rows of lamplit faces;
Fire bells peal, and some of us turn to listen,
And some sit motionless in their accustomed places.

Cold rain lashes the car-roof, scurries in gusts,
Streams down the windows in waves and ripples of lustre;
The lamps in the streets are distorted and strange.
Someone takes his watch from his pocket and yawns.
One peers out in the night for the place to change.

Rain . . . rain . . . rain . . . we are buried in rain,
It will rain forever, the swift wheels hiss through water,
Pale sheets of water gleam in the windy street.
The pealing of bells is lost in a drive of rain-drops.
Remote and hurried the great bells beat.

'I am the one whom life so shrewdly betrayed,
Misfortune dogs me, it always hunted me down.
And to-day the woman I love lies dead.
I gave her roses, a ring with opals;
These hands have touched her head.

'I bound her to me in all soft ways,
I bound her to me in a net of days,
Yet now she has gone in silence and said no word.
How can we face these dazzling things, I ask you?
There is no use: we cry: and are not heard.

'They cover a body with roses . . . I shall not see it . . .
Must one return to the lifeless walls of a city
Whose soul is charred by fire? . . . '
His eyes are closed, his lips press tightly together.
Wheels hiss beneath us.  He yields us our desire.

'No, do not stare so-he is weak with grief,
He cannot face you, he turns his eyes aside;
He is confused with pain.
I suffered this.  I know.  It was long ago . . .
He closes his eyes and drowns in death again.'

The wind hurls blows at the rain-starred glistening windows,
The wind shrills down from the half-seen walls.
We flow on the mournful wind in a dream of dying;
And at last a silence falls.


VII.

Midnight; bells toll, and along the cloud-high towers
The golden lights go out . . .
The yellow windows darken, the shades are drawn,
In thousands of rooms we sleep, we await the dawn,
We lie face down, we dream,
We cry aloud with terror, half rise, or seem
To stare at the ceiling or walls . . .
Midnight . . . the last of shattering bell-notes falls.
A rush of silence whirls over the cloud-high towers,
A vortex of soundless hours.

'The bells have just struck twelve: I should be sleeping.
But I cannot delay any longer to write and tell you.
The woman is dead.
She died-you know the way.  Just as we planned.
Smiling, with open sunlit eyes.
Smiling upon the outstretched fatal hand . . .'

He folds his letter, steps softly down the stairs.
The doors are closed and silent.  A gas-jet flares.
His shadow disturbs a shadow of balustrades.
The door swings shut behind.  Night roars above him.
Into the night he fades.

Wind; wind; wind; carving the walls;
Blowing the water that gleams in the street;
Blowing the rain, the sleet.
In the dark alley, an old tree cracks and falls,
Oak-boughs moan in the haunted air;
Lamps blow down with a crash and ****** of glass . . .
Darkness whistles . . . Wild hours pass . . .

And those whom sleep eludes lie wide-eyed, hearing
Above their heads a goblin night go by;
Children are waked, and cry,
The young girl hears the roar in her sleep, and dreams
That her lover is caught in a burning tower,
She clutches the pillow, she gasps for breath, she screams . . .
And then by degrees her breath grows quiet and slow,
She dreams of an evening, long ago:
Of colored lanterns balancing under trees,
Some of them softly catching afire;
And beneath the lanterns a motionless face she sees,
Golden with lamplight, smiling, serene . . .
The leaves are a pale and glittering green,
The sound of horns blows over the trampled grass,
Shadows of dancers pass . . .
The face smiles closer to hers, she tries to lean
Backward, away, the eyes burn close and strange,
The face is beginning to change,-
It is her lover, she no longer desires to resist,
She is held and kissed.
She closes her eyes, and melts in a seethe of
Amitav Radiance Apr 2014
As twilight descends on the city
Bright lights adorn the cityscape
As if the stars have come to decorate
The bustling party, where everyone is invited
Streets, alleys, pathways, boulevard- sparkling
With electrifying wattage, reminiscent of the celebrations
People returning home after a hard day’s work
With a slouch, after the backbreaking toil
The city lights up to entertain the weary passersby
Gives some solace to the mind, before another day beckons
The grim reality of the fast-paced city life is forgotten
As it’s time to celebrate another evening
Despite all the hardships and bickering among each other
There is always the dazzle of city lights to bathe with life
Rejuvenate us and entertain us; helping to cope with reality
The city crowd is amazing, where there is always a crowd
Despite being surrounded by people, yet we are alone
People flashing a forced smile to greet each other
Food stalls are a great leveler, where global cuisines are served
Bringing the flavors across the world, to the local taste buds
Everyone is in the limelight, under the city lights
Even the dark alleys and treacherous places align seamlessly
Yet, the city sees so many segregation and prejudices
The city lights don’t seem to illuminate all minds alike
All said and done, let’s be a part of the city’s party
As we are all invited, and revel till the city lights burn bright


© Amitav (Radiance)
Ceyhun Mahi Aug 2016
The clouds slowly conceal sunlight at night,
Who then slowly reveal moonlight at night.

In this city roams the Moon of New-York,
Who's face reflects the city's light at night.

All kinds of people walk around up here,
In lit streets who're full with delight at night.

When this city is seen, it looks like an
Huge ocean of lights by eyesight at night.

Every time I look at this adorned place,
I fail to forget that bright sight at night.

At sunset this city becomes one square,
A place where people can unite at night.

From miles away you can see this city's
Presence and signs by it's skylight at night.

Every second someone gets Pleasure's kiss,
While another feels Despair's bite at night.

In here roam hedonistic people,
And people who are strict and tight at night.

In this city who never sleeps at night,
I hear singing in highs and deeps at night.


The breeze of the summer stays at night,
Witnesses the turning to days at night.

I can't fail to remember this city,
Since I've seen that luminous face at night.

Because of the countless sighs of lovers,
You can feel in the air Love's haze at night.

The city's melody is determined,
By what each individual plays at night.

The strangest of all and mundane of all;
Each one has occurred in this place at night.

The rich, the poor, the mad, women and men
All walk along light-adorned ways at night.

The lights reach every soul in this city,
Coming from hotels and cafes at night.

Wherever that Moon goes, it leaves it's mark,
At each place you'll find that Moon's trace at night.

It takes miles for pilgrims from far away,
To enter this place trough highways at night.

In this city who never sleeps at night,
I hear singing in highs and deeps at night.


The neon lights cover the street at night,
Who are set in places who fleet at night.

Traces of drama, tragedy and more,
Is felt in every hotel suite at night.

The homeless and party-goers here,
Both walk on tired and sore feet at night.

Meals on wheels at sight at every corner,
To serve people who want to eat at night.

Both the old and youth are called to places,
With pleasures who are bittersweet at night.

Streets who reflect neon lights in puddles,
Are places for lovers to meet at night.

So many people walk along themselves,
Yet there's no time to greet at night.

This awake city who is always breathing,
Always blows to me a conceit at night.

I can't seem to stop to describe this place!
About this jungle of concrete at night!

In this city who never sleeps at night,
I hear singing in highs and deeps at night.


This place witnesses misery at night,
And also witnesses beauty at night.

Millions of fishes are swimming around,
Trough streets in this luminous sea at night.

The gates stay open without any rest,
All people come and go freely at night.

Trough happiness and even ill horror,
This places stays silent and steady at night.

Those who're in love in this city see with
Little eyes, who perceive blurry at night.

Lovers are tangled up in each other,
While raindrops fall in an alley at night.

No one is an exception in this place,
Darkness veils your ethnicity at night.

Many have acquired shine up here,
And lost, in that shining city at night.

Ideas are hoisted out of my well!
Gihon will end his poetry, at night.

*In this city who never sleeps at night,
I hear singing in highs and deeps at night.
Poetic Form: Terkib-i Bent; several ghazals woven into each other but with a different rhyme for each stanza. Each ghazal is closed with a couplet who always comes back so that a next stanza can come in with a different rhyme.
There's a meadow past the village
On a hill...where magic swarms
You can see it on a summer night
When the clouds predict the storms
Life from time eternal
Starts appearing in the field
Gnomes and bluebell fairies
and the magic that they yield

You can see them from the village
Dancing in the moonlights glow
You can see the lightning jumping
You can see the ebb and flow
The pixies and the fairies
Folk who are part of their own world
Light up the distant meadow
As the magic is unfurled

Daisies and soft bluebells
fill the meadow in the sun
there is clover and some dragonflies
And young children having fun
The magic folk are hiding
Lights are hid, and tucked away
Until the humans in their world
Pack to end the day

It's then, from down the village
That the meadow lights begin
Where the magic lights the sky up
In the early gloaming din
If a human breaks the borders
Coming out and much too near
The lights go dark...and silent
For the magic world has ears

There are sentries in the meadow
All unseen to you
That alert the makers of the lights
When the humans are in view
there is magic in the meadow
magic lanterns are set free
where the world becomes a canvas
Of dancing lights for all to see
Bright lights
Big City
She’s wearing hope around her neck tonight
In golden letters on a string
To make up for the darkness
To make up for the void within

Bright lights
Big City
This girl could always sing you the blues
This girl is always passing through

Bright lights
Big City
Don’t stay up
Don’t go waiting for her

Bright lights
Big City
This girl
She’s always going somewhere

Bright lights
Big City
And when she goes away
She's leaving you here
lupush May 2014
Map
Imagine a map, it’s a map of the world, a giant map, placed on the wall.
There are lights on the map, some of them blue, some of them white,
some of them glistening more, some of them flickering faintly.
Each light represents a soul.
Your light is on the map and I don’t know if it’s blue, white,
if it’s shining or if it’s hiding, if it’s bruised or healing.
(If it’s healing, it’s purple.)
Then something horrible happens; a villain steals the lights.
Not the souls,
just the lights.
Blue, white,
purple.
No indication of them on the map.
The map’s plain now. That’s not nice, is it?
A plain map. A plain map that didn’t use to be plain.
A plain map that used to special!
The villain returns the lights. He isn’t a villain anymore and
once the lights are placed on the map again, they shine like nothing
happened.
The villain didn’t break them.
But the map doesn’t want them now. I don’t need the lights.
The villain who isn’t a villain anymore leaves.
The map tries to shake them off but the lights don’t badge. Please,
get them off me
, the map says. Please,
I don’t need the lights.

Nobody hears the map.
Nobody will ever hear the map.
The map proceeds to tear itself apart, the small voice not loud enough
to make its presence known:
*I’ll try to get off you, I swear!
Gigi Tiji May 2014
a lady lights a cigarette
glowing red cherry
lips, puffing without
regret
a cigarette, burning
smoking, grey breathing
choking and
tap tap the
falling ashes

it is over with
a definitive flick —
a lady lights a cigarette
she can see her spirit
dancing in the smoke
Katy Owens Apr 2015
Brake lights reflect off streets damp with spring snow
Brake lights and street lights and street signs reflect a myriad of colors
A beautiful array off streets too terrifyingly wet to properly see
Danger in the brake lights
Shining street signs
Of roads too wet to see
And sometimes there's beauty in the danger
Sometimes
Dangerous is beautiful
And before there was light the world was in darkness
And before light there was darkness
And before light there was God
In the darkness
So if we spend so much time driving away from the darkness
Do we miss God in the beauty
Of street lights reflected on dark, shiny roads
Do we miss the beauty only found
In the darkest of nights
Are we straining to see with eyes not truly looking
Maybe in darkness our hearts
Learn to hear
Our souls begin to seek
Our ears see
And eyes feel
and bodies hear
And souls find
that peace comes from
Being WITH God, not from sight
And in the danger
There is beauty
Of a soul at peace
Seeing God without eyes
And soft brake lights
1

Senlin sits before us, and we see him.
He smokes his pipe before us, and we hear him.
Is he small, with reddish hair,
Does he light his pipe with meditative stare,
And a pointed flame reflected in both eyes?
Is he sad and happy and foolish and wise?
Did no one see him enter the doors of the city,
Looking above him at the roofs and trees and skies?
'I stepped from a cloud', he says, 'as evening fell;
I walked on the sound of a bell;
I ran with winged heels along a gust;
Or is it true that I laughed and sprang from dust? . . .
Has no one, in a great autumnal forest,
When the wind bares the trees,
Heard the sad horn of Senlin slowly blown?
Has no one, on a mountain in the spring,
Heard Senlin sing?
Perhaps I came alone on a snow-white horse,-
Riding alone from the deep-starred night.
Perhaps I came on a ship whose sails were music,-
Sailing from moon or sun on a river of light.'

He lights his pipe with a pointed flame.
'Yet, there were many autumns before I came,
And many springs. And more will come, long after
There is no horn for me, or song, or laughter.

The city dissolves about us, and its walls
Become an ancient forest. There is no sound
Except where an old twig tires and falls;
Or a lizard among the dead leaves crawls;
Or a flutter is heard in darkness along the ground.

Has Senlin become a forest? Do we walk in Senlin?
Is Senlin the wood we walk in, -ourselves,-the world?
Senlin! we cry . . . Senlin! again . . . No answer,
Only soft broken echoes backward whirled . . .

Yet we would say: this is no wood at all,
But a small white room with a lamp upon the wall;
And Senlin, before us, pale, with reddish hair,
Lights his pipe with a meditative stare.

2

Senlin, walking beside us, swings his arms
And turns his head to look at walls and trees.
The wind comes whistling from shrill stars of winter,
The lights are jewels, black roots freeze.
'Did I, then, stretch from the bitter earth like these,
Reaching upward with slow and rigid pain
To seek, in another air, myself again?'

(Immense and solitary in a desert of rocks
Behold a bewildered oak
With white clouds screaming through its leafy brain.)
'Or was I the single ant, or tinier thing,
That crept from the rocks of buried time
And dedicated its holy life to climb
From atom to beetling atom, jagged grain to grain,
Patiently out of the darkness we call sleep
Into a hollow gigantic world of light
Thinking the sky to be its destined shell,
Hoping to fit it well!-'

The city dissolves about us, and its walls
Are mountains of rock cruelly carved by wind.
Sand streams down their wasting sides, sand
Mounts upward slowly about them: foot and hand
We crawl and bleed among them! Is this Senlin?

In the desert of Senlin must we live and die?
We hear the decay of rocks, the crash of boulders,
Snarling of sand on sand. 'Senlin!' we cry.
'Senlin!' again . . . Our shadows revolve in silence
Under the soulless brilliance of blue sky.

Yet we would say: there are no rocks at all,
Nor desert of sand . . . here by a city wall
White lights jewell the evening, black roots freeze,
And Senlin turns his head to look at trees.

3

It is evening, Senlin says, and in the evening,
By a silent shore, by a far distant sea,
White unicorns come gravely down to the water.
In the lilac dusk they come, they are white and stately,
Stars hang over the purple waveless sea;
A sea on which no sail was ever lifted,
Where a human voice was never heard.
The shadows of vague hills are dark on the water,
The silent stars seem silently to sing.
And gravely come white unicorns down to the water,
One by one they come and drink their fill;
And daisies burn like stars on the darkened hill.

It is evening Senlin says, and in the evening
The leaves on the trees, abandoned by the light,
Look to the earth, and whisper, and are still.
The bat with horned wings, tumbling through the darkness,
Breaks the web, and the spider falls to the ground.
The starry dewdrop gathers upon the oakleaf,
Clings to the edge, and falls without a sound.
Do maidens spread their white palms to the starlight
And walk three steps to the east and clearly sing?
Do dewdrops fall like a shower of stars from willows?
Has the small moon a ghostly ring? . . .
White skeletons dance on the moonlit grass,
Singing maidens are buried in deep graves,
The stars hang over a sea like polished glass . . .
And solemnly one by one in the darkness there
Neighing far off on the haunted air
White unicorns come gravely down to the water.

No silver bells are heard. The westering moon
Lights the pale floors of caverns by the sea.
Wet **** hangs on the rock. In shimmering pools
Left on the rocks by the receding sea
Starfish slowly turn their white and brown
Or writhe on the naked rocks and drown.
Do sea-girls haunt these caves-do we hear faint singing?
Do we hear from under the sea a faint bell ringing?
Was that a white hand lifted among the bubbles
And fallen softly back?
No, these shores and caverns are all silent,
Dead in the moonlight; only, far above,
On the smooth contours of these headlands,
White amid the eternal black,
One by one in the moonlight there
Neighing far off on the haunted air
The unicorns come down to the sea.

4

Senlin, walking before us in the sunlight,
Bending his small legs in a peculiar way,
Goes to his work with thoughts of the universe.
His hands are in his pockets, he smokes his pipe,
He is happily conscious of roofs and skies;
And, without turning his head, he turns his eyes
To regard white horses drawing a small white hearse.
The sky is brilliant between the roofs,
The windows flash in the yellow sun,
On the hard pavement ring the hoofs,
The light wheels softly run.
Bright particles of sunlight fall,
Quiver and flash, gyrate and burn,
Honey-like heat flows down the wall,
The white spokes dazzle and turn.

Senlin, walking before us in the sunlight,
Regards the hearse with an introspective eye.
'Is it my childhood there,' he asks,
'Sealed in a hearse and hurrying by?'
He taps his trowel against a stone;
The trowel sings with a silver tone.

'Nevertheless I know this well.
Bury it deep and toll a bell,
Bury it under land or sea,
You cannot bury it save in me.'

It is as if his soul had become a city,
With noisily peopled streets, and through these streets
Senlin himself comes driving a small white hearse . . .
'Senlin!' we cry. He does not turn his head.
But is that Senlin?-Or is this city Senlin,-
Quietly watching the burial of the dead?
Dumbly observing the cortege of its dead?
Yet we would say that all this is but madness:
Around a distant corner trots the hearse.
And Senlin walks before us in the sunlight
Happily conscious of his universe.

5

In the hot noon, in an old and savage garden,
The peach-tree grows. Its cruel and ugly roots
Rend and rifle the silent earth for moisture.
Above, in the blue, hang warm and golden fruits.
Look, how the cancerous roots crack mould and stone!
Earth, if she had a voice, would wail her pain.
Is she the victim, or is the tree the victim?
Delicate blossoms opened in the rain,
Black bees flew among them in the sunlight,
And sacked them ruthlessly; and no a bird
Hangs, sharp-eyed, in the leaves, and pecks the fruit;
And the peach-tree dreams, and does not say a word.
. . . Senlin, tapping his trowel against a stone,
Observes this tree he planted: it is his own.

'You will think it strange,' says Senlin, 'but this tree
Utters profound things in this garden;
And in its silence speaks to me.
I have sensations, when I stand beneath it,
As if its leaves looked at me, and could see;
And those thin leaves, even in windless air,
Seem to be whispering me a choral music,
Insubstantial but debonair.

"Regard," they seem to say,
"Our idiot root, which going its brutal way
Has cracked your garden wall!
Ugly, is it not?
A desecration of this place . . .
And yet, without it, could we exist at all?"
Thus, rustling with importance, they seem to me
To make their apology;
Yet, while they apologize,
Ask me a wary question with their eyes.
Yes, it is true their origin is low-
Brutish and dull and cruel . . . and it is true
Their roots have cracked the wall. But do we know
The leaves less cruel-the root less beautiful?
Sometimes it seems as if there grew
In the dull garden of my mind
A tree like this, which, singing with delicate leaves,
Yet cracks the wall with cruel roots and blind.
Sometimes, indeed, it appears to me
That I myself am such a tree . . .'

. . . And as we hear from Senlin these strange words
So, slowly, in the sunlight, he becomes this tree:
And among the pleasant leaves hang sharp-eyed birds
While cruel roots dig downward secretly.

6

Rustling among his odds and ends of knowledge
Suddenly, to his wonder, Senlin finds
How Cleopatra and Senebtisi
Were dug by many hands from ancient tombs.
Cloth after scented cloth the sage unwinds:
Delicious to see our futile modern sunlight
Dance like a harlot among these Dogs and Dooms!

First, the huge pyramid, with rock on rock
Bloodily piled to heaven; and under this
A gilded cavern, bat festooned;
And here in rows on rows, with gods about them,
Cloudily lustrous, dim, the sacred coffins,
Silver starred and crimson mooned.

What holy secret shall we now uncover?
Inside the outer coffin is a second;
Inside the second, smaller, lies a third.
This one is carved, and like a human body;
And painted over with fish and bull and bird.
Here are men walking stiffly in procession,
Blowing horns or lifting spears.
Where do they march to? Where do they come from?
Soft whine of horns is in our ears.

Inside, the third, a fourth . . . and this the artist,-
A priest, perhaps-did most to make resemble
The flesh of her who lies within.
The brown eyes widely stare at the bat-hung ceiling.
The hair is black, The mouth is thin.
Princess! Secret of life! We come to praise you!
The torch is lowered, this coffin too we open,
And the dark air is drunk with musk and myrrh.
Here are the thousand white and scented wrappings,
The gilded mask, and jeweled eyes, of her.

And now the body itself, brown, gaunt, and ugly,
And the hollow scull, in which the brains are withered,
Lie bare before us. Princess, is this all?
Something there was we asked that is not answered.
Soft bats, in rows, hang on the lustered wall.

And all we hear is a whisper sound of music,
Of brass horns dustily raised and briefly blown,
And a cry of grief; and men in a stiff procession
Marching away and softly gone.

7

'And am I then a pyramid?' says Senlin,
'In which are caves and coffins, where lies hidden
Some old and mocking hieroglyph of flesh?
Or am I rather the moonlight, spreading subtly
Above those stones and times?
Or the green blade of grass that bravely grows
Between to massive boulders of black basalt
Year after year, and fades and blows?

Senlin, sitting before us in the lamplight,
Laughs, and lights his pipe. The yellow flame
Minutely flares in his eyes, minutely dwindles.
Does a blade of grass have Senlin for a name?
Yet we would say that we have seen him somewhere,
A tiny spear of green beneath the blue,
Playing his destiny in a sun-warmed crevice
With the gigantic fates of frost and dew.

Does a spider come and spin his gossamer ladder
Rung by silver rung,
Chaining it fast to Senlin? Its faint shadow
Flung, waveringly, where his is flung?
Does a raindrop dazzle starlike down his length
Trying his futile strength?
A snowflake startle him? The stars defeat him?
Through aeons of dusk have birds above him sung?
Time is a wind, says Senlin; time, like music,
Blows over us its mournful beauty, passes,
And leaves behind a shadowy reflection,-
A helpless gesture of mist above the grasses.

8

In cold blue lucid dusk before the sunrise,
One yellow star sings over a peak of snow,
And melts and vanishes in a light like roses.
Through slanting mist, black rocks appear and glow.

The clouds flow downward, slowly as grey glaciers,
Or up to a pale rose-azure pass.
Blue streams ****** down from snow to boulders,
From boulders to white grass.

Icicles on the pine tree melt
And softly flash in the sun:
In long straight lines the star-drops fall
One by one.

Is a voice heard while the shadows still are long,
Borne slowly down on the sparkling air?
Is a thin bell heard from the peak of silence?
Is someone among the high snows there?

Where the blue stream flows coldly among the meadows
And mist still clings to rock and tree
Senlin walks alone; and from that twilight
Looks darkly up, to see

The calm unmoving peak of snow-white silence,
The rocks aflame with ice, the rose-blue sky . . .
Ghost-like, a cloud descends from twinkling ledges,
To nod before the dwindling sun and die.

'Something there is,' says Senlin, 'in that mountain,
Something forgotten now, that once I knew . . .'
We walk before a sun-tipped peak in silence,
Our shadows descend before us, long and blue.
Tulip Chowdhury Jul 2014
Fireflies keep me awake,
deep nights unfold
with countless lights,
I wonder, and wonder,
O' fireflies with flickering lights,
have you found your knights,
is the night warm enough
for your lights to work the magic
to catch the perfect mates?

Global warming, so many hazards
suppose the nights are not warm enough
for the chemicals to work
and fireflies did not get their lights,
will that mean the death
no mating and
the end of fireflies?

I sit awake, night grows deep
staring out at the waning moon,
the garden wears a girdle,
a fairy girdle of winking lights,
the fireflies go high and low
I hope, just hope
this summer is rich in romance
for the fireflies to find love.

Summer without them
would be loveless warmth,
for He and I join our sights
weaving our love story
watching the fireflies
love each other
with soft, flickering lights.

Every summer a blessing,
a return to paradise,
fireflies and romance
He and I
new wings to love
A toast to Life!
There are darknesses in life
And there are lights
You... are one of the lights.
The light of all lights.
I love you.

— The End —