Manhattans poems on Hello Poetry

lmnsinner Nov 2017

she just shakes her head

she meets me on the street-corner, me from work, she from dance,
in the grayling dusk of a thank god it’s a freedom Friday night,
I greet her with words semi-adventurous -

“come with me, few errands to run, keep me in good company”

to the candy store we go for to purchase my weekend eve
lottery tickets and blow-pop lollipops, just in case some
kids appear, a surprise omen as they come
trick-or-treating just before Thanksgiving

the Bangladeshi candyman calls out a long prayer
in his native Bangla

she asks “what’s that he’s saying?”

“Oh, just wishing us a pleasant Sabbath and
may his gods smile upon our good lottery fortune”

she just shakes her head, from side to side

emerging from the store, walking home in the
now doubly ***** darkly dusk,
a set of white teeth from a passing shadow-man says to me
“you’re home late and have a great weekend,”

she asks, “who is that?”

“why,” I reply, “that is our very own personal postal carrier’

she says:
“he delivers mail to ten thousand people all in buildings tall,
yet knows your name, your face,
where you buy your lottery tickets,
your coming and going hours,
how came that to be”

but waits not for an answer
she just shakes her head, from side to side

I show her my secret entrance to our apartment house,
the fast route to collect our mail, dry cleaning in one fell swoop
a secret door, secret elevator taking us directly to our apartment

a secret elevator which is under the direction of
Bimal from Nepal,
who I greet in Nepalese, (my tutor)
I, asking after Brian and Bryce, his 100% American boys

now she says nothing, but before our door, as I go key digging,
she just shakes her head, from side to side

later she says:

“let’s order in, apprise me of your expertise,
some exotic fare from Manhattans First Avenue,
known for its aphrodisiacal powers
afterwards,
you must tell me each dishes name,
in its tongue’s nativity,
but much, much later,”

and as she speaks, grinning,
she sticks out her tongue,
while she just shakes her head,
but this time,

up
and
down

11/17/18
nyc
mostly a true story, mostly

#shakes #her #head #lmnsinner

Michael DeVoe Feb 2014

Lunchbox

I've become acutely aware of the gravity in the fact that all I said to her was that I don't want to be the one who starts all of our conversations anymore
And that since then we have had no conversations.
I don't think I will be rid of the haunting that this is my fault until I am haunted with the fact that it may be hers
In so making her not the woman I wanted for
Nor the woman I was all too eager to give myself for
Thirdly making me that man who opened his rib cage exposing his heart for her taking
Only to collect dust, rain drops, and those twisty helicopter things that fall from trees in the autumn
All from being left open so long on a very windy day when she saw what my heart was stretching to offer her and chose to leave it there
Couldn't I once be the one worth taking
Or at least notice when she's not the one worth opening up for.

There are days I wish God hadn’t built me with a zipper for a sternum
You know I don’t always mean to show them everything
It’s just sometimes I forget to zip it back up after I take it on walks to the liquor cabinet
My heart is a bow-tie drinking Manhattans at the center table with a chair full of friends and a twinkle in his eye
My tongue is a rolled up cuff drinking whatever’s on special at the end of the bar confusing, “I’ll have another” with proper conversation
My mind has an unplugged mini fridge in the corner with two luke-warm ciders waiting for a chance to celebrate...remembering to brush my teeth
Depression is a funny sort that way, it’s all her fault, right up until you remember how hard it is to brush your teeth everyday
At which point it’s either your own fault, or we’ll try again tomorrow.

Knowing is not half the battle when the battle is not being waged in your head
Knowing it is all going wrong is just another reason to never put on the helmet and see what the battle may bring
Seeing what right looks like on Pintrest is not motivation to check my zippers
It is the battle cry my stomach gives my lungs after lunch
It is the battle cry the fists of my mind give my heart when we are alone
It is a crop duster driven by the Morton’s Salt Girl, who never misses the open wounds of my torn innards strewn about an open field after losing the battle for the day.
I am a slug on your porch and I shrink with every grain
And you will never hear me scream
It’s just so tiring to tell someone you hurt and have no blood to prove it.

I do not much dream for stars or skinny girls anymore
I am afraid of what their sharp edges will do to my fingertips
I’m just looking for something I can hold on to
Someone who will remind me that I have a place here
If that place is only to take up oxygen
Sometimes I let my dreams get away from themselves and I dream of great magical things:
Like being loved back
Feeling important
Sleeping peacefully

On occasions I even see myself at work opening a love note in my lunchbox from someone who felt compelled to take the time to tell me they love me
It always swells my heart
Makes me want to be a better person
To get out of bed
Run a marathon
Sing an opera
Lift a weight
Sky dive
Read a book
High five a stranger
Take a dancing class
But then I wake up and look across my room at just how far away the light switch is and decide I must be afraid of the dark
Since I never remember to turn off the light before lying down and I never have the strength to get back up

I dream most of all of having someone to tell me the things I need to hear
To give me a purpose
A vision
A reason to live
To stop letting me find better excuses
To yell in my ear or write me a note that says,
“You are worth it, every minute, every cent, every effort. You are worth it, because you will become a great man and because I love you, and because you are destined to change my world, and because your son needs you, and because you are brilliant, and because the world needs your words, because I need your words”

But the only notes I get are the ones I put into my own lunchbox as a reminder come noon-time
That even if for no other reason than because I said so,
I am worth it

A collection of poems by me is available on Amazon
Where She Left Me - Michael DeVoe
http://goo.gl/5x3Tae

Walter W Hoelbling Jul 2016

summer evening

the setting sun glows crimson over distant hills
people enjoy the balmy temperatures
sip their mojitos and manhattans
anticipating finger food and tapas
chatting with friends and neighbors

not everybody notices
the folding blossoms of the garden flowers
or the sweet evening songs of birds
the daring hedgehog venturing forth
to look for food
the smell of honeysuckle gaining force
under the rising moon

the beauty of our nature
often gets talked away in conversations
reduced to just a pleasant ambiance
that loosens our tongues

in our obsession to communicate
we tend to overlook the soft magnificence
the world presents to us in dusky evening hours

#nature #beauty #sunset #evening #chatting #unaware

Shelby Hemstock Jul 2013

A Winters Night In Brooklyn

It all started with an urge to go to the movie theater
PTA's "The Master"
It was a 35 minute walk to the nearest cinema in Brooklyn
Nighthawks is what it was called

1:10pm, 4:10pm, 6:10pm, 10:10pm, the show times
Since I woke up at 12:45am, 1:10pm was out of the question
4:10pm seemed plausible but when the clock rolled around I was still puttering around the house
I could putter no more by 6:00pm and flew the cooped up den

The air, brisk and crisp
Time fell back
Women's heels clap the sidewalk in applause
All for the autumn on a Sunday frozen in time

I arrive, show sold out
I walk across the Williamsburg bridge, why not?
First theater in Manhattan I see turned out to be live art
So I turned out and left

Manhattans alive while Brooklyn slumbers
I dart down Clinton St toward the old Avenues
November, I could go without the cold weather, but I love the seasons
Pumpkin lattes **** my wallet dry like lesions

Soon I'm walking down 2nd Av, feeling familiar with my surroundings
Funny, feeling familiar, in a city I thought I'd never know, (you'll never know if you don't go)
Got some dollar pizza on St Marks
Followed by a dollar falafel, which tasted awful, (now I know why it was a dollar)

I walked in circles around Union Square, in union with everyone there
Happy that my feet were to the street, where they belong
Freezing, frozen, frigid, shakin' in my britches
Wrapped around my neck a borrowed scarf
Bumping into people, "I'd like to get by now", like Garth

(keep moving, you'll find what you want to find)
In big bright neon light at Village Cinema
"The Master"
(In 70mm)
Huh, 70mm, "Cool", I thought

The theater, empty as a loners funeral
I was the only one there, red velvet lined seats
I missed Halloween
Maybe this is my treat

The world is beautiful
This city is mine,
All I had to do
Was leave my old one behind

EC Pollick Jun 2012

Arm/Arm

Sleeping.
No. Not sleeping.
Hands in the dark.
Arm/Arm.
Next to each other, on top of each other.
Legs. Legs.
Foot. Tracing your leg.
A hand in the dark.
Fingers take my fingers.
Touches my face.
Kissing.
Suddenly.
You’re there.
So am I.
Should we be doing--?
--Kiss.
Never mind.

You’re supposed to be on a plane right now.
You’re not.
You’re on this bed.
Where I am too.
You kiss me again. Hard.
Hello, tongue.
Wait. What?
Doesn’t matter?
Okay.
Keep kissing.
Yes.

I know what this is.
I’m everything she’s not.

You call me beautiful.
No, I’m not.
My, you’re insistent.
I really don’t think I am.
You stare at me:
I’m the only woman in the world.
No one’s ever done that before.
Hands are going places.
I don’t want ***.
Well, I do.

I want *** with love. You love someone else. And I love you.
I am not an Equal Opportunity Provider.
Is that okay?
God, you’re so sweet.

You kiss me again.
I kiss you back.
Stroke my hair.
Scratchy beard,
Rubs my chin.
God you feel good.
Ugh.
My willpower is diminishing.

Stop.
Let’s talk.
Not about…her.
I mean.
About whatever, really.

Your back porch in Atlanta.
Play them blues.
Drink your Manhattans.
You and your gin.
Sounds beautiful.

You want me to know I’m beautiful.
No I’m not.
Why do I think that?
I’m just not.
It seems we’re at an impasse.
I don’t know I’m beautiful.
You don’t know you’re quite a catch.

You’re fanfacking tastic.
How do you not know it?
[It’s a cruel game;
that the universe made you love someone
who just can’t see that.
That the Gods would laugh
at our human folly
seems unfair.
That they gave us love
and then gave us no directions on how to use it.
That this man
is tripping over his own two feet
trekking mountains
traversing deserts
stealing the stars right out of the sky
Trying to re-win the love of his life.
She doesn’t even bat an eye.
She doesn’t know
that he is the rarest form of species.
And she
is a ******* poacher.]

Now I’m falling in love with your soul.
The very depths of you.
The secret rooms.
The inner dialogue.
You just get me like no one else does.

Sleeping.
No.
Getting there.
Pull me in tight.
Body on body.
Safest place in the world
is right here.
My head on your chest.
Arm/Arm.
Hand/Hand.
Tonight you’re mine.
Tomorrow
you were just a dream.

marlene dunham Mar 2010

Cocktails

Cocktails

My folks would have cocktail parties
I remember as a child,
on Saturday nights in the city.
Cigarettes glowed, Martini’s flowed.

From the back bedroom, my sister and I
would listen to grown up chatter
as if some pearl of wisdom heard
would somehow really matter.

Kept awake by the noise,
we’d play a game of chicken
shoving each other round the corner
only to be stricken

with terror and embarrassment
as we stood in the middle of that space,
in our nightgowns and slippers
as if on stage, exposed, red faced,

and mortified, as the guests looked up
momentarily distracted from conversation.
With ****** expressions asking the question
“what could be their motivation”?

Then back to the festivities at hand,
paying no attention to the childish prank,
they continued smoking their cigarettes,
Manhattans, Martini’s - they drank.

As children we wondered
on those Saturday nights,
is this what grown “upness” is like?
Will we have to drink whiskey
and smoke Lucky Strike?

To have good friends and neighbors
Come to our parties
With trays of canapés and appetizers
Is that what will make us popular?
Happy, interesting, wiser?

We plotted and planned,
How our grown up lives
Would be different than mom and dad
It seemed silly to us to make such a fuss
When tomorrow they’d still be sad.

My folks would have cocktail parties
I remember as a child
on Saturday nights in the city
But the clink of ice, didn’t stop at night
It continued on through the daytime too!
Now wasn’t that a pity?

Dane Tyler Campbell Feb 2014

All Morning Long I Have Been Beating on a Drum

I am vapid. I am inane.
A raving lunatic, I am insane.

All morning long I have been beating on a drum.
Da dum da dum da dum.

What I have to say need not be said.
These words I write will never butter my bread.

I have lain down those dreams of my youth.
I make Manhattans for a living, mix whiskey and vermouth.

A black cat drinks from a green shovel where rainwater has collected.
I say this as it happens as it doesn't matter and I am misdirected.

I am vapid. I am inane.
All I do, I do in vain.

All morning long I have been beating on a drum.
I'm numb. I'm numb. I'm numb.

What I have to say need not be said.
All that I have written will never be seriously read.

I have lain down those dreams of my youth.
I am unshaven and unrefined. I am craven and uncouth.

A black cat drinks from a green shovel where rainwater has collected.
Fear is a wound that opens loudly and over time grows infected.

I am vapid. I am inane.
I am a fake. A phony. I feign.

All morning long I have been beating on a drum.
I'm dumb. I'm dumb. I'm dumb.

What I have to say need not be said.
Truth be told I wish I were dead.

I have lain down those dreams of my youth.
I make martinis for a living, also with vermouth.

A black cat drinks from a green shovel where rainwater has collected.
I say this as it happens as it doesn't matter but I find myself nevertheless affected.

I am vapid. I am inane.
I am 27. My name is Dane.

All morning long I have been beating on a drum.
I'm done. I'm done. I'm done.

Maggie Emmett Jul 2014

The Search for Mr Right

Apparently it’s official
the search for Mr Right
has been abandoned.

After due consideration -
one ***** Cranberry Tonic
two Manhattans -

There’s nothing left to do
but smoke your last cigarette
outside

line up the Tequila shots
with lemon wedges
and salt

and after two hours
of rigorous hip-like-a-**
Beyonce-****-dancing

to loud Techno repe-ti-tive beat
avoiding all football players
and other women dis-respectors

accept a ride home
with a halfway decent
Mr Right Now.

© M.L.Emmett

#right #humour #searching #futility #mr

Traveller in time Apr 2019

Our evermore .

Darling let us dance with the moon above us and sea below ,

for this night is meant for us “ .
man
I’ll take you’re hand ,
a Walt’s we shall dance as if the stars look down ,
and their twinkle mirror mists enchant ,
their heavens array on this moonless night ,
we shall hold each other until Manhattans lights draw near .

Woman ... it’s so cold can you feel it my love
Man ... ‘ there are icicles on deck here you are my love “
Oh stop oh stop throwing them “
Man , you’re such a tease ,
You’re smile ,
You’re face with tender lips to embrace ,
to kiss you ,
and hold the back of you’re tender ,
soft neck .

woman “ I shall hold you this night until the Statue of Liberty we shall see before our eyes on that distant shore ,
and there we shall dine in Manhattans cafes
With only love ,
and kind words to fill our hearts for evermore.

“ woman ‘“. We have danced all night ,
The lifeboats have but all
gone ,
to the tune of Autumn our souls live ever on ,
nearer my God to thee.
with only God before us ,
as heaven awaits “.
For now my evening dress is wet as ,
there are iceicles around my ******* ,
there lies water all around ,
and I’m frozen .
To you I cling my ,
To you as heaven comes down we dance ,
hand in hand ,
as for this eternal spring .
the moon it’s flares,
and whistle are all in the past .
We plunge ,
ghosts ,
hand in hand ,
down to the oceans dark tombs we surrender.
to angels who guide our way ,
to the strange mists,
and endless horizons that have enchanted this night

Down ,
down.
Four shoes ,
and you’re top hat ,
lie in silt ,
forever ,
with dolls ,
and prams ,
and plates ,
and watch faces ,
where time stands still
on the ocean bed ,
lies our evermore .

.i

petalsx Sep 2013

♡

my mind has an abundant amount of words piled ontop of my brain waiting to be reconigzed
my mouth opens to speak these words to you but nothing never seems to come or flow out right
but truth is you make feel like manhattans lights
because you make my insides burn
and that might sound horrible but it feels good and you make me feel like my favorite candy because you make me feel so sweet but once the candy goes down i feel like nothing and nothing is how you make me feel. you have a toungue made out of blades and it cuts me very deep. sometimes you leave me there feeling so alone and cold like winters most harsh storms and you can be so bitter sweet because you make me hate myself but i love you. and sometimes i feel like we're up high but down low. you make me feel like a better person. you made me believe in myself even through my darkest nights and now i can fall asleep okay.
you make me lose my mind but you also help me find it and this is very ironic. just like my hatred for you turned into love.
i feel safe with you and i feel real.
like everyones words cant break me because sometimes you build me up even though other days you knock me down. i love you and i love the fact that we arent easy.
A.M.

Virginia Kasmi Sep 2017

Curves and bones

Reactions become routines,
and I didn't even know,
until your existence challenged mine.
Scary in oh a such beautiful way,
how all of my 5 senses react, as I hide my face between your sheets,
and they smell like strong morning coffee.
Terrifying how you make me feel
as dizzy as I get after seven perfect Manhattans,
when your hands get lost in the curves of my body.
My mouth jailed in ecstasy on your skin,
My lips wanting to write a story on your cage of bones,
Almost using the words I am afraid of even thinking .
Almost.

#curves #bones #skin #lips #feels #almost

Mary Catherine Morra Jun 2016

Last Supper

Our Last Supper, in truth, was a luncheon, but no matter-
It’s the breaking of bread, the holy communion,
The wine, the Manhattans, the beer that counts.

Together one last time, raising our glasses to “whatever”
Vowing to preserve our little circle, no matter what
Like the heartbroken little apostles that we are.

Before our meal’s done, we plan the next Sacred Gathering
A cookout in August, a “*** luck” in February, and so on,
Because one “Last Supper” is never enough

Author’s Note: I wrote this poem in 2012 when the doors of the school at which I taught closed for good. It was a Catholic School if you didn’t guess.

Mark Toney Oct 2021

Reflections

My dreams are bright
feather light
at night
conditions right
Carefree
Mind free
Life's challenges
to be won
Feeling warmth
from noonday sun

I dream of water
floating
boating
with Dad
Sparkle Lake
water ripples
Lost Dad
Double nickels
Still sad
Memory trickles

I dream of sky
Fly
High
Cropduster
Single prop
Big John
Name drop
Macho swagger
Li’l Baby
Taildragger

I dream in hues
greens, blues
Love so true
dancing with you
Faces aglow
manhattans flow
******
Need a drummer
Low-rent venues
party continues

I dream less bright
feather light
at night
conditions right
Carefree
Mind free
As when I
was young
Colder now
in the setting sun

Mark Toney © 2021

#freeverse #reflections #growingold #death #life #remembering #loss

Bloodline of King Yashayah Jan 2021

Troubled Troubles Troublemaker

Shoot my arrows of a funky a tip cold brews I sip strip
Titles from rival yo its survival of the fittest the winningest
Hard for ya digest the best is yet to come from the slums
Of that wicked Houston you know the rockets shooting
Lootin' record pockets with the black market watch us stock it
Underground sounds htown ya know homie it's going down
Slowed up keep the syrup leaning in my cup so let me interrupt
The musical stations with no hesitating old school
Tasting flavors yall still.wasting money no time chasing
Flows been in me since I was a baby treat it like my lady
Golden era emcee spread my trees for every family
Gangstas hustlers thugsters to the teenage jugglers
I'm touching ya with the heat for the streets it's so sweet
Light the swishers to my mouth greet smokes a fleet
I'm so neat I'm so cool make the average hater drool
Know I'm hear to rule slick rick mentality with the jewels
Kangol hat pistols dipped in black plus a stainless steel bat
What's that haps curly naps this a brother that wont nap
Ya dead wrong in the club getting my bounce on
So sing along if ya know the words of the songs
Hit em like the chi-lites to the manhattans chatting
Raw macking smacking the calmest girls roudy in the back end
See her twitching caught my eyes devils temps is dripping
All over me plea the fifth I'm in insanity the man in me
Cant shake the fleas dog I am there I am again against rams
Dodge the bullet who can pull it off like this brother others
Try to come close but cant match this butter to toast
Melt tracks stain out the competition with my lyrical Ajax
As a matter of fact yall just keep listening times whistling
Revelation tune into the stations staring the son masons
7th star glory road signs leak with energy from the divine
Check it this ain't for ****** specs this for the tape decks
Beats I wreck keep these lines in check cold threat
Microphone I hold by own skull with a fiery throne shape clones
What is this brother getting at? Imagine that me
Falling off of the map relapse off of ya mental collapse
Raps drawn by me in the form of history philosophy
Knowledge of the rhythm in ya grove to the immortal system
I'm hear to stay so let me play no loose words on the air play
Talk that **** that gutta gutta **** invoke fear from the darkest pits
Capernick ice piks fist in the air is a truth or another dare
As I stare into the state of panic ******* it critics
Dont understand it take a shot of whiskey make it a double
I thought we had a free state of mind only to get me in trouble

Got dj quik backing it up with the chop no vocals on the cut
They say what the **** is going on this for ladies n gents grown
Mature establishments immature wanna have it stab it
They cant cuz they bleeding from the old school seasoning
Beats this that **** ya that makes for a rewind or a repeat complete
Once my vocals meet cant stop going off of the beat
Man hold up this is a freestyle gotta go wild gotta go hard
On the charge like Charles Barkaley and all yall barking at me
But won't bite a G me the MC far from a square hit the snare
So I can let yall compare feel this through ya souls atmosphere
Hear me clear eyes bugged like headlights to a deer
Smear any beat I hop on stay strong this is everlasting long
Sound the gong let the battle begin see an eternal witnessing
Don't need the light or a shine to see a diminishing  finished within
Once the realize the damage is settled in happy feeling
Begins a maze your temple is grazed yo I'm never amazed
Measures drastics true natur-al far from a plastic minds elastic
In many forms wipe a nation without the bombs caress
The symphony  it's so me smoothly spitting on the LP
No delays when I write what i say triggers ricochet
Bounce off like Bobby Boshay oh yeah it's another doomsday
So peep my visions incisions made with out the cut
Deeper than the souls of a gut call me mister King Tut
On a gangsta strut back to streets taking back my seat
With no chair throw ya hands in the air if ya a true player
Oh yeah I told em 2 decades ago I would rock the shows Cristo
Monte blunts smoke slow cash grows see flint of a haters sparkle
I charcoal beef til its obsolete without the heat
So watch ya where ya set ya feet the tools I use is antique
Mystery creek flows is rising everyday no disguising
Wising up over my opponent's yo tell me how ya want it
29 minutes of a freestyle stay wild turn critics wows to smile
Frowns cant even be form cuz you're in the edge of the storm
Calm as I sit in the eye no need to lie as I multiply third eye stys
Craniums shaking earthquake rhymes got em breaking staking
Every thing I touch come through with the cobra clutch
It's the black Dutch ruthless with the grit I hold mold any
Opposition  listen suckas talking bad but ain't stenciling
Nothing bad words make em react to the verbs check the nerves
Ya titles is wrecked im here to collect all dues an aspects

— The End —