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Robin Carretti May 2018
He quietly appears so many years have passed smelling the amazing greener then life grass a potent filled with magic the invisible man he passed.
Splendor in the grass

Ehh Oh yuck someone
abandoned you
On the runway
He Grilled walked in
fashionable late
The head of his
mansion

You needed to
tolerate
Oh! Chuck
Full of gas
shattered_
her mind
with scars coming
toward her
like glass

The wake-up call
The lady of
all envy
Winning
an Emmy
Adelle
We could
of had it all
Another name
Amy
For the love,
Of a ghost
Like the
Candy Man
Invisible man
from
Ireland

Something got posted
seductively
Blindfolded hosted
Designed into his
Money hand
Powdered substance
poisoned her

Invisible man
Her eyes got
Smoked like
Poison Ivy
In the Army now
Please too much
Attention of green
Arabian in the Nile
Miles and miles
Navy to be seen
He was colored blind
Different eye
Brown in one and blue
Something hatched

Matchmaker  Ghost rider
Fiddler on the roof
We need a story writer
Like a horse
without a hoof
To neigh the right
stuff

I Sir "Infinitely" so
"Existentially"
Remarkably
Divinely
Ghostwriter
Her words were
blank
She is so genuine
Every other day
He was mine
The quiet man
Super shy
Another try
Valentine's day +*

Writing but not seeing
I love you until this day
Quiescently being forced
he entered emerged
I love you let's get
engaged
Beg your pardon
was not her
To be loved so sorry to be
changed
Like a stale piece

Her niece vintage
furniture more love
and peace
Quietly operation
tugged
Someone got flagged
That blind man
faced
And looked into
the  quiet man
On someone's 
body
The smells
like Moms
perfume her
exact tune
New Jersey Patch reader
"The Catcher in the Rye"
To weird the movie
Carrie
School can be strange
A bucket list of water
down your head
She walked

The Quiet man lips
No small talk
Ghost post bed
Not even one star
could be heard
The gas lamp
she tripped
Out of sight

She saw a face not to
be described

So inhibited like
endangered
species

The invisible man
loved her
But got his
vengeance on
anyone
that was too near her
People wanted so
much to
be her
Her force
indescribable

When someone was
clear to see
Extremely well visible
she didn't care to
know them

Her nose on the tip
baking with flour
Ghostly the hostess
of the most
But feeling his
energy the invisible
the man was
courting her so challenging

New flame "Procreating"

Hemming her long skirt
Her diary innocence
Being on her side
but scheming
Disguise home staging
From the ridiculous to the
subline

Her address
Send forget me knots
street
Only blind
people are the kind
you want to find

SOS  surrender or out
The other S Soulmate
Ghost
Hailed the Mary
The Quiet Man
John Wayne

The laundromat
Mack the knife
Invisible man
Inked his whole life
Waynes world
Born to be wild

The other man
Hit the metal
heavy music
fan
Drenched so humid
He was the Murad

Triangle mess
Shopping at London
Harrods
Let's hear it for
the girls or ((Gods))
The magical channeling
TV on the blink
Went right on his computer
All the quiet man linked

He finger waved by the world
Guinness drinking Heineken
beer
The ghost rider
Got grilled called upon
By Ron
College kid playing
Rugby
The good bad and
the Ugly
Clint Eastwood
stretched them out
like Gumby
Western gunshot slinger
He couldn't see the
Ghost rider
the
blank stares
Perky Rabbit Hares
All the negatives got
burned
Exorcist's heads twist
and shout eyes healed
about

Climbing the Jacks
of the shinning
Nowhere in the beauty of
Her heart gleaming

Took a blindfold call felt
somewhere but where?
But I couldn't see blinded
by stars
Over the rainbow, the skies
weren't blue
Being stalked by
someone you know

By the greater impossible
love
To be silent like she was
invisible
So naive at time feeble

Without an honorable
love of fee
Gone with the winding
shopping spree
Disworthy and sneaky
but for being
who or answers
Doctor Who?
Invisible man what
could he do

He was so flavorful
well balanced
strong nursed her well
and sturdy
Quiet man thinking in his
beloved study

She was no goodie
magical shoes
The Ghostwriter
left invisible
clues
More Quiet time
Lemonade time affair of a
Ghost man
Like Hannah and her sisters
Woody if he could
But he is a **** good writer
The Movies of NewYork
I am proud to say
I come from
Brooklyn NY

If lips could talk
pouty
Sensing something but why?
Hans Christian Anderson
Quiet man playing softly but
Killing me easily through the
Blind sighted window

The widows
War Veterans
True Hero My dad
World War 2
Wifes lies and fibs
Quiet leads to invisible
Heller Keller was so
fortunate
Like Fate, she was
the real
Mccoy, she could light
anyone's smile
with joy
The barbecue next season
So many years to reason
More gun control
Be more visible to others
Mothers and brothers
Have a heart of soul


Only the strong keep the
  fight
Just keep on trucking
Grill them show them
What you could write
Perhaps it's cool to be the
Ghostwriter
Not everyone likes
To see the clear picture
What is really taken

So what if people cannot read us
Somehow we are all blind that's
OK its a miracle how other people
Can make it the beautiful day


Of the next groundhog day
He was loving to be invisible
He wanted to keep it that way
So deep set her eyes
to die
Somehow talk could be cheap
And the shepherd of love loads

of sheep, silence is the best sleep

All in someones head so lovingly deep

Invisible but remarkable to be the person
you want to be or let's really look closer
it's not always rosier.
Can we be so invisible to everything we look at? What about being blind Helen Keller to me was the fortune of better futures your best wine out of the cellar. So what if you are blind there will always be someone you love around you just have to feel them
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;aopicho@yahoo.com)



I have been reading the old copy of Saturday Nation, a week end edition of the daily nation in Kenya. It was published some weeks ago. It has some enticing feature stories that have made me to reflect on a certain family value in Africa. The three feature stories I have been reading are ; Lupita Nyong’o stellar performance in the movie, 12 years a slave, in which she emerged a top American actor, attracting in the same course the most coveted Oscar prize, I have also read in the same paper the shooting literature star of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, an American based Nigerian writress, who had had her last book Americana win the American Booker Prize, and lastly , I have also ready  a very captivating account of Wanjiku wa Ngugi’s spellbinding debutante in her book, the fall of saints. Wanjiku account was written by Proffessor Evans Mwangi a Thiong’o literary scholar based in Newyork. Mwangi being a Ngugi wa Thiongi’o, scholar wrote this article because Wanjiku wa Ngugi is also a daughter to the world famous Kenyan novelist, Ngugi Njogu wa Thiongi’o.
In each of the three above cases, emanates a significant observation that the fathers to the respective ladies are great men in their respective capacity, and that the ladies mentioned are now obvious heirs to the family names, family intellectual domain and family selling point respectively.
Lupita is heir to proffessor Peter Anyang Nyong’o, Adichie is an heir to the African literary heritage of proffessor Chinua Achebe, and While Wanjiku is a promising successor to Proffessor Thiongi’o.
These are actually a crystallization of strange unfolding that time has now challenged old mindset among African societies. The mindset in which Africans have not been counting girls as children .This family value has been there up to today. If an African man tells you that I don’t have a family it means that he is expressing three connotations; he is not married, he is married but he does not have a children, or he is married but his wife have only been bearing him girls, because if anything; an African man is only responsible for siring sons, daughters are a mistake of the wife.
This typology of family civilization got to its peak in the mid of  last year, when the Luo council of elders, hailing from Siaya County of Kenya, where Baraka Obama is rooted, expressed their open puzzle over Baraka Obama as per why he can’t take his time to have sons. They are now organizing a delegation that will go to America to counsel President Obama over the matter that he needs to re-organize his posterity strategy other than thinking in terms of Sasha and Malia.
What I mean is that Africans don’t believe if at all family interests can be carried forward through a daughter. They don’t believe if a girl can be an intellectual or command any wisdom that can go places. But realities from a historical experience that great African men don’t sire great sons but instead they sire great daughters must make this society of male chauvinists to have a mental paradigm shift in relation to child valuation and recognition. To accept a social déjàvu that daughters have a big capacity to carry forward the family name than the previously mistaken notion that they are only sons who can do this.
Facts on the ground range from the case of Julius Nyerere,Kwameh Nkrumah, Malcolm X, Frantz Fanon, Richard Wright, Tom Mboya, Masinde Muliro, Nelson Mandela, Mutula Kilonzo, and Francis Imbuga just to mention a few African heroes. Justification of this list showing Africa’s reversal of Prospero complex abodes in the facts that; Susan Nyerere is currently the most outspoken in the Nyerere family. Similarly, Nkrumah’s daughter is currently a politician in Ghanaian parliament and very promising politically. Betty Shabazz X was recently reported to have put Louis Farrakhan on the spot over the ****** plot of her father the late Malcolm X.Mireille Fanon Mendes is the director of human rights activist organization known as Frantz Fanon foundation. This is the organization which recently recognized Mumia Abu-Jamal with a prestigious prize. Mumia Abu-Jamal is an African-American writer and journalist, author of six human rights focussed books and hundreds of similar spirited columns and articles. He has spent the last three decades on racially biased Pennsylvania’s death row. And now general population in America and in the world knows that Mumia Abu-Jamal was wrongfully convicted and sentenced for the ****** of Philadelphia Police man, Daniel Faulkner. His demand for a neutral trial and unconditional freedom is enmassely supported by heads of state, Nobel laureates, human rights organizations, scholars, religious leaders, artists and bioethical scientists. All this is nothing other than universal singing of the tune in the poetic writings of Frantz Omar Fanon entitled Facts of blackness, through his daughter Mireille.
And equally enough, those of you who have delved into posthumous family conditions of Richard Wright must have appreciated stellar performance of proffessor Julia Wright in respect to the genetic legacy of her father. Dr. Susan Mboya is currently living in South Africa and she is serving the society in the same tandem her late father Tom Mboya discharged anti-colonial service to the people of Kenya, Africa and world in general.Masinde Muliro has Mrs. Namwalie Muliro and Mutula Kilonzo has Kethi Kilonzo. The point is that, just like all of other heroes in Africa, these two great politicians have their daughters; Namwalie and Kethi as the heirs to their political legacy.
This phenomenon is not unique to Africa. But it is a universal genetic condition. The study of genetics has a concept that inferior genes of the mother are passed through an X chromosomes in XY to the sons, while superior genes of the father are passed through an X chromosome of the ** to the daughters.
Just but to wind up my story I want also to counsel The Luo council of elders that president Obama, their son who lives in America does not have misplaced values in projecting his posterity through Sasia and Malia. Personally I am aware that as per now there is no any African boy at age of Sasha Obama that has ever read Yann Martel’s Life of Mr. Pi. But in stark contrast the international media reported Sasha Obama to have vividly read this book until she commented to Baraka Obama that, ‘daddy, this is a very good book’.  And of course this is how an intellectual is made.
Olivia Robinson Nov 2013
flower child.
so soft spoken and sweet.
            you are my hippy sister.
fashionista you set trends.
         I love your vibe.
so calm and carefree.
with a creative mind and unique soul
                        you are art.
I can imagine you with a
                              big curly fro.
paint cans, brushes and canvases
               cluttering your NewYork flat
as sounds of
Lana del Rey and Jhene Aiko
              fill your apartment
and posters of
Aubrey Graham
grace your walls
          ten years from now.
O.Rob.
another poem for my poems for friends series. this one is about my friend desteny. really cool, chill girl, she's so sweet! love her! enjoy.
When i was knee high
Could i ever cry for our countries gone under
Because we had to surrender
Shredded by German's plunder
Yet i rejoiced and thanked God
when the sun was shinning
I did a lot of day dreaming
watching the clouds as they went by
The only jewells i saw were the daisies by the road
their perfect little rows
of white petals , center gold
I dreamt of far away lands where people were free
free to speak, free of fear and striffe
America land of my dreams
you were floting in my inner space like a desert's mirage
I clung to it with determination
until the day, it came into action
Young Gi's fresh faced, full of youth
smiled at us from their metal girth
tanks, cannons, guns and the likes
They looked so vulnerable and young
they held my hand " small " in theirs " strong"
in their palms well fed and reassuring
they could be so loving to a little girl
who defied dying
So land of my dreams you will come true
In my heart you grew and grew
till one day, i will see NewYork bay
Land of my dreams you will be mine

Colette Anne Naegle
1945
I wrote it at twelve when America blew down the **** sign in Berlin
When i was knee high
Could i ever cry for our countries gone under
Because we had to surrender
Shredded by German's plunder
Yet i rejoiced and thanked God
when the sun was shinning
I did a lot of day dreaming
watching the clouds as they went by
The only jewells i saw were the daisies by the road
their perfect little rows
of white petals , center gold
I dreamt of far away lands where people were free
free to talk, free of fear and striffe
America land of my dreams
you were floting in my inner space like a desert's mirage
I clung to it with determination
until the day, it came into action
Young Gi's fresh faced, full of youth
smiled at us from their metal girth
tanks, cannons, guns and the likes
They looked so vulnerable and young
they held my hand " small " in theirs " strong"
in their palms well fed and reassuring
they could be so loving to a little girl
who defied dying
So land of my dreams you will come true
In my heart you grew and grew
till one day, i will see NewYork bay
Land of my dreams you will be mine

Colette Anne Naegle
1945
LaTroya Lovell May 2015
Around this particular time i can recall bonfires on a Far Rockaway beach
in between two and three AM
The fire; a heap of AM newyork papers burning in a rusted trash can stolen from the boardwalk.
Kiah was beautiful
her hair, coarse honey ringlets framed
a narrow face. I watched her eat grapes
and pull her hair away from her eyes a couple
of times. She ate the grapes and their juice made her lips glossy she did this and sipped on a Corona
her boyfriend sat behind her playing the guitar
and no attention to anyone. I wanted him.
A few days before that I was in his room
He asked if I ever heard Shaggy's "Mr. Bombastic"
that's what was playing when she walked into the room
she stared at me like a cat plotting an attack
walked past me like one too
the night before that I lay on the floor
of his room. There was no furniture
a motor bike in the corner. Some drums,
and various painted wood boards hung up, some laying
on the floor. Oil pastels scattered along with
screws, and bolts. while he played
maxwell on his guitar, acrylic paint under his finger nails.
I woke on the floor with a fuzzy purple throw blanket over me he was still in the same spot strumming and,
smoking a beedie when the sun came up
Jude kyrie Mar 2016
1970
He sat next to me in Junior school
when I was just a little girl.
Always so sweet to me
I really liked him…
well ….
no much more than that.

1974
At middle school
he carried my books
home from school.
we became best friend's.

1979
At high school
I gave him my pin
he gave me
his friendship ring.
he was my date
for the prom.

1983
we both went away
to college together.
I was lonely and slipped
into his bed he held me safe.
we broke the chains of friendship.
And he became my lover.
my one and only lover.

1988
We married young.
Our  parents were
not surprised.
They were expecting it.

1994
we have three kids now
two girls and a boy.
Our son looks just like him.
when we first met
so long ago.

September 10 2001
He came home from work
just like any other day.
Put burgers on the barbeque.
We got the kids to bed
had a glass of wine.
And went to bed at Ten.
He wanted me
but I was exhausted
the kids had been terrors all day.

September 11 2001

he left early for work
with a cheek kiss
and a see you later Honey.
The kids went to school
I poured a coffee
the phone rang it was my
best friend.
Have you seen the news
she said.?
I put on the TV.
the towers fell to ashes
as did my life at that moment.
No tears came
All I could think was
I wish
I had made love to him last night.

September 11 2015
The kids are all grown now.
he would be so proud of them.
Our son looks just like him.
We all stand
at ground zero
and say a prayer.
I whisper
it was you honey
always you.
He answered me.
At that moment
a huge arc of a rainbow
circled the sky over NewYork.
And I know for sure.
It was for me.
Small story from the dust of a larger one.
Zulu Samperfas Dec 2012
Oh, it was so romantic
and he put it on his computer
where I have my password taped
that I look at every day and can't remember
and I didn't ask for his, and I left it all up in the air
where it should stay, and at times I can barely remember his name
So the same, stepping lightly out over the abyss
will I float or fall or float for awhile and then careen down to
the ground and smash?  And It was in the teacher's lounge and he still
gave me that look of genuine interest that makes me sure
he wonders what I look like naked, and
I wonder if he's cute enough or if he'll be mean
Because a lot of them are I've found and for some
reason an early memory surfaces from a dinner long past
with my boyfriend who I'd marry,
and we were finding out about a dinner party me and my boyfriend
who became my husband and what
was to be served and the Madame said "Eet will be a fish and
eet will be cold."  And we laughed later and it was a cold fish but not fishy,
and not good, because who wants to eat a cold fish
in December in NewYork?
And now my number is on a Post-it on his computer and I can only
wait and see and I do admit I wonder what he looks like naked.
Caro Jan 2019
sometime
s

I wish

I

was a fashion designer or someonelikethat maybe living in newyork being botheredbymynicotineaddiction but happy to not have to go stand intherain

wearing bellsleevesonatuesday and feeling n i c e and callingmymotherbefore dinner and having lunch withmybest friend and her dog

and living a life asleep

sometimes

it feels good towishicouldbe someone else and to know that instead i will alway
s

b e  m e
just over tired and taking a break to write out some thoughts while I work
Dark n Beautiful Oct 2021
What Love commands the train fulfills*,

The six thirty bounds to Coney Island

Where the green Ubers awaits the passengers

Morning greetings, (Urdu) of few words, were the



Pakistan, rules Mermaid Street with the neon green

Were too mama? where too, two dollars:

A repeat routine for most of us,



Whether you’re a morning person or a night owl, we all start our day at some point. And we all seem to start it differently. (Kevan Lee)



Five forty showers, get dress out the door before six a.m.

Grab the garbage, and walk three to the subway,
where love commands the train fulfills, which lessened  

My morning depression until midday, (who control whom)



Why was I born, why am even here, what is my personal worth?

Timeless question, who would remember me, when I am gone?

The train, the cabbies, would the streets miss my dragging feet?

Self-observation, is it worth a Newyork minute of whom will miss us. (really)

Void, void, void, void, void, void, void, and more void,

Just allowed the few that might to do some adjustments

For the sake of remembering me, for the sake of losing my car fare,

For the sake of not receiving, my monthly fees, and T-Mobile

you definitely would, release me from my grandfather plans:



Today, I sit in silence, away from all sounds, only the sounds

Of a keyboard, and my heartbeat, as the mouse goes click, click

For the sake of remembering is that a poet is only good at recollecting, reflecting, and making his audience believes in his words:
James Jan 2020
off the aeroplane
meeting me is christ
he doesn't say a word
he only fries rice

useless tables
are useless politicians  
they should be practical
but you can't throw them in the chipper

i'm in-between cupboards
and in-between wards
playing drunk on the piano
so i'm not drafted into war

born sick
and commanded to be well
asking jesus for the secrets
that the useless **** cannot tell

back on the aeroplane
which only now is a spitfire
i'll see you all in newyork
and with all our hearts tired
Raj Bhandari Oct 2018
NEWYORK...WHAT A LIFE,

NEW DELHI...WHAT ? A LIFE !!!
Not so, really, the seat of spring,
a car of dark cloths, the voice of
boys and whispers.  Do it.

Do it, the lion sleeps tonight
playing on the radio.  Do it.

Forty years the lion is awake.
I remain in the back, handblack,
churning.  My stomach is den
solid now and hungers for the
shallow response.  The song
played then shouts out loud.

Do it.  I wrestled with it, and drowned.

The lion sleeps not I think.  I see
the mane of his black head, the
italian tomorrow of my fourteenth
year roared from him.

I did it in the maw of that music.
I held onto the ****, pretended
to feed the wimoway.  Never done.

I did it to the music of the *******
who whispered to me of the jungle.
I did it to the tune of the ***** that
pinned me to the mighty song.

The lion sleeps.  I think not yet.
Snickersnack the wimoway is
whacked low and I drown in the
song.  I did it, like a nun who fears
perdition if she drops the rosary.

The lion sleeps tonight.  In the jungle
the ******* NewYork night
pads on and on.  I don’t sleep.





Caroline Marie Shank

March 9, 2001
Written several years ago. I feel compelled to look back
ZACK GRAM Nov 2023
Lay that Magnum fire
6 shooter
So many people
Magum Fire
Blow all at once
Guide by shield
Move by sword
Precise an on Point G clock
Lay that Magnum Fire
Field of tulip an dandelions
Smoking God Packs
Holy Pacts
Gun residue by the fingertips
Through fingerprints
Voice a whole story
That Magum Fire
For hire your sire on squire
Fire fire fire
Magnum gunpoint
Ran the wrong pockets
Dont top it
Drop this newyork best sold
Trigger hold
Fold
Magnum Fire smoking G Packs
Got my Jean Pants
Rifle range interior design
Signed
MAG
Caroline Shank Feb 2020
Not so, really, the seat of spring,
a car of dark cloths, the voice of
boys and whispers.  Do it.

Do it, the lion sleeps tonight
playing on the radio.  Do it.

Forty years the lion is awake.
I remain in the back, handblack,
churning.  My stomach is den
solid now and hungers for the
shallow response.  The song
played then shouts out loud.

Do it.  I wrestled with it, and drowned.

The lion sleeps not I think.  I see
the mane of his black head, the
italian tomorrow of my fourteenth
year roared from him.

I did it in the maw of that music.
I held onto the ****, pretended
to feed the wimoway.  Never done.

I did it to the music of the *******
who whispered to me of the jungle.
I did it to the tune of the ***** that
pinned me to the mighty song.

The lion sleeps.  I think not yet.
Snickersnack the wimoway is
whacked low and I drown in the
song.  I did it, like a nun who fears
perdition if she drops the rosary.

The lion sleeps tonight.  In the jungle
the ******* NewYork night
pads on and on.  I don’t sleep.





Caroline Marie Shank
I wrote this years ago. I don't think I have posted it yet but not sure.  C.

— The End —