Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Emily R Jun 2016
Over the sprawling hill
With labored breath
I burst over the top
The sun has beat me though


It’s bright yet cold rays
Illuminate the morning scene
Hardly breaking to skirt around trees
And clearing the diamonds of dew.


The emerald valleys and pale peaks
Seem to shiver
As the dawn chases away
The chill of the night.


I smile as the soft colors
Though not as vibrant as dusk
Gradually fade away
And the birds begin their songs


Their songs echo
Through the endless yet grounding
Green hills and valleys
Of  Saratoga Park.


They seem like a tribute
A monument
To the cost of freedom
Here fought for.


A thump is heard
As I collapse on to the damp earth
With the futile attempt
To absorb the serenity.
- Jun 2016
These days,

Everyone I talk to
Is a Sagittarius
And I am terrified

Of each of them
Brian Oarr Feb 2012
The Saturday night crowd, all here to see Dave Van Ronk,
sit huddled in the fashion of Antwerp diamond cutters,
sipping cinnamon/marshmallow coffee at the tables.
Caffe Lena is Saratoga's happening place in the 60's and
we're here to forget the war and civil strife in the ghettos.

Sister Mary Katherine, sans frock, is the warmup act,
but no one really gives her any mind,
as she struggles to seat herself upon the stool
intended for the six-foot plus Van Ronk.
Joan Baez prepare to eat your heart out!

Without so much as introduction, she
breaks into a high soprano Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues.
Heads pivot like synchronized swimmers toward the stage.
Her silken voice emits notes blinking
into reality from quantum fluctuations in space/time.

Every quivering high-C grafts the audience together.
She's spinning veils of sound,
the like of which our ears are unfamiliar.
The quavers in her throat match the tremors in my coffee.
In the back of the cafe a drunken Van Ronk passes out.
A true incident which occurred @ the Caffe Lena in 1968
Shortly thereafter Sister Mary Katherine left the convent
Wk kortas Oct 2020
You’ll not see their like come race season,
Having left the premises to be replaced
By the preening breast-augmented and face-lifted set,
Shaking their heads and clucking sadly if one inquires
If they might have something
A touch smaller than a Franklin in their wallets,
Their smooth patter, replete with references
To Paris junkets and Milan catwalks
Occasionally interrupted by one of their more prosaic counterparts
(Hard-core players following the nags up from Belmont)
Stopping in to partake in one vice they’d sworn off earlier
While loudly disclaiming the other which had ruined
An otherwise perfectly lovely afternoon
(They’ll down their draughts in short order,
Most likely headed for the harness track
To drop a twenty on some longshot
Which bears the name of a long-departed grandmother.)
This time of year, though, they are ubiquitous
As the black and salted slush,
Sad souls slouching in after a bracing walk from Skidmore campus
Or some down-at-the-heels apartment on Alger Street,
Forlornly popping into some quiet booth
With the familiar long-distance stare seen in those
Beginning to grasp the truth that one
Is an object of prey in a very small pond indeed
(Likely a semester, no more than two certainly,
From having their undergraduate epaulets
Torn unceremoniously from their shoulders)
Being as quiet and unobtrusive as church mice
Until a half-dozen or so Coors Lites
Leads them to pontificate on the injustice of the universe
And if they have not decided to stagger home
Or degenerated into desolate tears of self-pity,
They are wont to dispute the existence of the Almighty,
Saying with a conviction which would be impressive
If expressed by Beelzebub himself
That he does not exist, that he cannot exist,
Though the body of proof cited in support of the proposition
Tends to be fragmented and rife with circular reasoning
(We know that they’re most likely drinking with false ID,
But they are invariably pedestrians—let them have their moment,
Only threats to themselves, after all.)
As for myself, I’m of the opinion that faith in the Hereafter
Is that rarest of bets, an absolute bet-the-chalk- dead- cert
Where you walk to the betting window clutching house money.
judy smith Oct 2015
The top-secret nature of Allison Williams‘ wedding made it all the more special.

“One of the most special things about the wedding was that it was actually very personal and very private,” the “Girls” star gushed at the premiere of Forevermark’s new film, “It’s a Long Journey to Become the One” on Wednesday night.

Williams, who wed College Humor co-founder Ricky Van Veen in September, kept guests in the dark regarding the actual locale of the star-studded affair, even setting up a decoy site to lure the paparazzi away from the actual ceremony at the Brush Creek Ranch in Saratoga, Wyoming.

“It was something that mattered to me in a sense of just wanting it to feel really intimate, and to feel like an experience that we shared as a family and with our closest friends,” said Williams, 27. “I feel really happy about the fact that it was exactly that.”

After father Brian Williams walked Allison down the aisle, Tom Hanks officiated as the couple said their “I do’s” in front of pals including Lena Dunham, Katy Perry andSeth Meyers.

“It’s an emotional day and people were free to feel whatever emotions they were feeling,” the newly married actress said.

Williams shared a few snaps of her wedding on Instagram, including a stunning shot of her custom-made Oscar de la Renta gown.

“Peter [Copping, de la Renta’s creative director] grew up being around horses and ranches and immediately understood the aesthetic I was going to be in,” Williams explained of the design process. “It came together kind of organically.”

Though Williams let the designers work their magic, she did have a special request.

“I wanted sleeves because I’m always cold.”

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/plus-size-formal-dresses

www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses
Corset Oct 2016
There were trim grains in the wood
that framed the streaming light
from a window early bright
which bent with a firm bristle
forms from a sweet morn.


Strokes of a strong hand,
"he's painting"
I said to the pillow.

to none, was I explaining
but he was there,
with his Modigliani oils
laying his soul bare.


Medium streaming thumb
in the mouth of palette
in cool colored thoughts
of blue-eyed mysticism,
Avocado hues and the many,
warmed robes of Saratoga.
David Ehrgott Nov 2015
1.  MISSISSIPPI II
  
Keesler Air Force Base
Sergeant will **** you
Crocodile got to eat
  
2.  SAN FRANCISCO QUAKER
  
Not a bad place un-
til looters step on
the bookshelf that fell on you
  
3.  L.A.
  
The real *****.  Holly-
wood is just the pump
shooting sin into it's vein
  
4.  WYOMING
  
Don't sit on the yell-
ow stone.  That's where the bears
went after picnicking.
  
5.  VERMONT
  
Red necked wooden
Boys always looking for
a fight from a Yankee
  
6.  NEW HAMPSHIRE
  
Charlie and Kathy
are from here.  They're nice to
know if you can find them
  
7.  MASSACHUSETTS
  
The prettiest girls live
in Boston.  They have mouths.
Some worse than truck drivers.
  
8.  RHODE ISLAND
  
Such a little place
to cozy up to the
over crowded rowdies.
  
9.  NEW YORK SHUFFLE ?
  
Buffalo girl moved too
Saratoga Falls.  Hasn't
Had a dance since last fall.
  
10.  HONEYMOONER FELL-ER
  
Took my girl to Niagra
Falls took my ******
Maybe next time
  
11.  DELAWARE
  
Overcrowded racetrack
Casino lots of
swampy grass derelicts.
  
12.  MARYLAND
  
Ain't no place to
Stop off 95
For this' lilly white man
  
13.  VIRGINIA
  
Had them Japanese
people eating fish.
Didn't know it was lunchtime.
  
14.  WASHINGTON STATE
  
All that rain and snow
Can never compete
With it's powerful blowholes
  
15.  OHIO
  
OH HIGH OH
OHIOH
OHIO
  
16.  ILLINOISE
  
Birthplace of Lincoln
and Chicagoland
Nothing much else but farmland
  
17.  ASSISTANCE?
  
I wanted to help
the homeless so I fed
them government nonsense
  
18.  INDIANA
  
Same old flatland lit
up at night Lincoln's
Hiway taking in the sights
  
19.  WINDS OF CHANGE
  
Big bad wolf tried
to knock down my house of hay
today..  I knew he blew.
  
20. COYOTE TRIED
  
Leader scolded me at five
Better off dead
Amen coyote cried
Chloe K Apr 2013
I’ll leave an empty page at the end of our final chapter
--the one I never thought I’d reach.

Maybe in time we’ll scrawl in an epilogue
Between honey sweet days on a tapestry in Saratoga
Woven like loops of a three ring notebook
A convoluted beginning met a harsh end.

We swam into the deep end
Sputtering and gasping for oxygen
Our lungs ¾ full and drunkenly heaving
To the beat of spoken word and Astronautalis.
I spanned my globe with you, measuring pieces of my soul like sugar cubes
In careful bits, we rationed out our hearts
Bartering for love through semisweet jaded eyes.

Your head in my lap on a Central Park afternoon
Your words imprinted on my neck, wrists, back, *******
Our fingerprints sealed together
I’ve never been more naïve.
So glad I didn’t die before I met you.
LD Goodwin Apr 2013
I'll be drinkin' white lightning tonight,
alone with my guitar.
tryin' to remember all the words.


*For George Jones Born: September 12, 1931, Saratoga
Died: April 26, 2013

The Window Up Above  
Songwriter: George Jones

I've been living a new way
Of life that I love so
But I can see the clouds are gath'ring
And the storm will wreck our home
For last night he held you tightly
And you didn't even shove
This is true for I've been watching
From the window up above

You must have thought that I was sleeping
And I wish that I had been
But I guess it's best to know you
And the way your heart can sin

I thought we belonged together
And our hearts fit like a glove
I was wrong for I've been watching
From the window up above

From my eyes the teardrops started
As I listened on and on
I heard you whisper to him softly
That our marriage was all wrong

But I hope he makes you happy
And you will never lose his love
I was wrong, I was watching
From the window up above

How I wish I could be dreaming
And wake up to an honest love
I was wrong for I was watching
From the window up above...
Harrogate, TN April 26, 2013
Robin Carretti May 2018
Please me_
(In) the- in -crowd
You lose me
(Out) the- out
Fury 
 never
works
out with
Gary
_


Don't ugly
goose me
No pretty, please
me  so deceiving
Whole entire
City is leaving

Hot fun summer in the city
A curse like a bad omen such a pity
__

Face me
Camelian
Stan the evil
man
To the ugliest
Fight at the
Grecian slam

Huncheback of
Notre Dame
The Pompeii fire
flame
Ugly ducking tamed
Modern
Video-game

Chavez
Fizz Roz
Heading towards
The Planetarium
Pretty tragic
Ending up in a
sanitarium
((Magic))*

Strikingly
matched
Twin of topaz
The Solarium Jazz

Going to Saratoga
Song Sara Smiles
But travels all the way

To Minnesota
So drained Rotto
Rooter
At the Polaris Mall
Christopher Columbus
Clockwork on a bus
Oh! Ohio red roaster
Never pretty at the
Bull's eye Rodeo
Rodeo drive

Devil and Domino

Virgo meeting Hugo
Taurus
The Pluto Bull
of lotto

Gina eating
Italian Alfredo
Mudpack stinks
Frank and Dino
Sammy the
Rat pack

Moms
Baking soda
Dominque
Mystique
Trapeze

Doing Yoga
Please without
the pretty
Bo ditty
Feeling gitty
Not to be flattered
So bloated
fatter
Role Gotta give
Beauty beast wider
On Fox Five
Harley Quinn rider
Arizona

Eating
Tapioca
Life is a ***** not
a beach diet
Never do we pray
Pretty please to preach
It's now or never we better think to be clever no one said doing poems would be easy. But what happened to our manners Pretty please with the cherry on top
Judgson blessing Mar 2015
Oh sea, eternal sea.
sea of tempest gale .
what gloom of thee i now see?
sorrow of my lost dear hales .
what do i behold with thy gait .
tears and sinister hulk wherever i sail.
for uncountable dreads you nail .
sea tells me the memoirs of your past hails.
sea of great Normandy lost fortune .
sea of old Titanic sadness.
sinister hell for no one to tell the cruelness.
that i deem for long their lost tune .
i hear but their murmur in horrid abyss.
poor of my dream ,no more or a bliss.
sea of eternal time and awful gloom .
sea of Moses magic and Egyptian battalions hell room.
oh,what memoir do i behold of thee.
painful reminisce and arrogance  toss of thee.
sea of Fuller's glory wickedly cast out not  see.
with babe and apron washed ashore .
but where writ encamped into your deep bore .
sea;of you i behold boredom but no lore .
and Fuller i long make my dear lord .
sea of all histories :low and high and Saratoga .
sea of past glory memoir of where did Columbus go.
i hear all ,and Phoenicians past bloom .
but i fear cause your waves sweep like a broom .
oh, our town ,our farm all engulfed .
slayer is Catherine a daughter of sea .
our  green pasture , and our bed of flower ripped .
for my kindred kinsman at Haiti that i cant see.
you court me with fantasy but i behold with horror.
for i dont want my last reminisce of love .
to be linked with thee,thee coldest terror .
all parting is good in likewise all leave .
but tomb stone i will appraise at my depart eve.
oh ,never rested slaughter of of eternal  time.
at Jakarta i see you mark i red line .
your thirst can never be quenched .
in your horror all ,but is cheated .
you are the most sweet kiss .
but i behold with venomous kiss .
Dustin Dean May 2018
Found in a rather balmy condition
It was inside such an ornate structure
Where she lived, washed her spirits
Down basins of verity

The glare of mimosa shined
Onto decorative butterflies
And their spirits did flutter
In her rather delicate frame
For there was uncertainty
On where to go?
And what to do?

T'was out of the wash
And into the sun
Sounds of a piano beckoned
From the saratoga valleys
Into darkening mikados
She had found salvation
At a quaint destination
Through communal melodies
From a young collective
Though not all in body
But rather in spirit
They held each others hands
In hopes that their souls
Would find a release
Joseph Sinclair Dec 2014
The poet and the platonist
Were seated side by side
A carriage on the Circle Line
Was what they occupied,
While gazing at a map aloft.
It was the station guide

The train was running on its tracks
Running with all its speed
The carriage held but these two men
Great intellects indeed,
Deliberating mysteries
On which they disagreed.

Alongside Mr Gregory
Was seated Mr Syme
The former quite anarchic;
The latter, quite sublime,
For whom the whole discussion
Seemed but a waste of time.

The time has come the poet said
To speak of many things
Of God and Truth and Transcendence
And Saratoga Springs
And whether miracles exist
And archangelic wings

“O poet” said the Platonist
“Please look at what you’ve done!
You’ve ridiculed my arguments,
Where have my dogmas gone?”
“No need for such concern,” he said
“I’ve swallowed every one!”
“The poet only asks to get his head into the heavens. It is the logician who seeks to get the heavens into his head. And it is his head that splits.”  wrote G.K. Chesterton in *Orthodoxy*.  He also introduced in *The Man Who Was Thursday* those two characters Lucian Gregory and Gabriel Syme, the former a proponent of anarchy and chaos, the latter a defender of order and correctness.  Gregory wanted nothing more than that the next station on the railway line on which they were travelling should be somewhere mysterious; Syme believed that there was more mystery in the fact that with hundreds of stations from which to choose, the next station would always be the one shown on the map.
I envisaged these two in the roles of Lewis Carroll’s Walrus and Carpenter and came up with this poem.
I have since discovered more than a hint of Dickinson in the second stanza.
Mac Feb 2018
Shoulders back, eyes front
Big smile, never blunt

Hair curled, makeup done
Don't cry, nowhere to run

Camera’s on, lights bright
Families here, don’t bite

If you think this is bad, just wait
Mornings almost here, don’t be late

Six’ am, shower and dress
Seven to eight, makeup needs to look its best

Eight’ fifteen, act like you eat
Small piece of toast, just a little bit of wheat

Eight’twenty-five, pack your bag
Almost done, don’t you dare drag

Eight’ thirty, chauffeurs here
Mum’s tagging along, don’t jump off a tier

Nine o’ clock, school starts
First class of the day, the fine arts

Every stroke, taken with care
People are watching, so add some flare

Ten o’ clock, science class
Kid says hi, go ahead and pass

Eleven to twelve, flirt with the ****
And sit back and watch as his girlfriend gawks

Twelve’ fifteen, lunch has arrived
All gossip, officially food deprived

Two more classes come and go
School has ended, time for a new show

Manicure and pedicure, don’t stop smiling
Phone stops ringing, just keep dialing

****** at four, study at five
Family dinner at six thirty, try to survive

Eight’ o clock, detox, and yoga
Try not to freak that your life is worse than the battle of Saratoga

Ten o’ clock, just a quick shower
Cry out your feelings, this is your only hour

Cut your ankle, no one will know
Just give it an hour, the blood slow

Lay in bed, just one more day
You can end it after your birthday
You walked into the party like you were walking onto a yacht
Your hat strategically dipped below one eye
Your scarf it was apricot
You had one eye in the mirror, as you watched yourself gavotte
And all the girls dreamed that they'd be your partner
They'd be your partner and
You're so vain
You probably think this song is about you
You're so vain (you're so vain)
I bet you think this song is about you
Don't you don't you?
You had me several years ago when I was still quite naive
Well you said that we made such a pretty pair and that you would never leave
But you gave away the things you loved
And one of them was me
I had some dreams they were clouds in my coffee clouds in my coffee and
You're so vain
You probably think this song is about you
You're so vain (you're so vain)
I bet you think this song is about you
Don't you don't you don't you?
I had some dreams they were clouds in my coffee clouds in my coffee and
You're so vain
You probably think this song is about you
You're so vain (you're so vain)
I bet you think this song is about you
Don't you don't you?
Well I hear you went up to Saratoga
And your horse naturally won
Then you flew your lear jet up to Nova Scotia
To see the total eclipse of the sun
Well you're where you should be all the time
And when you're not, you're with some underworld spy
Or the wife of a close friend wife of a close friend and
You're so vain
You probably think this song is about you
You're so vain (so vain)
I bet you think this song is about you
Don't you don't you don't you?

— The End —