"walkers" poems
They have watered the street,
It shines in the glare of lamps,
Cold, white lamps,
And lies
Like a slow-moving river,
Barred with silver and black.
Cabs go down it,
One,
And then another,
Between them I hear the shuffling of feet.
Tramps doze on the window-ledges,
Night-walkers pass along the sidewalks.
The city is squalid and sinister,
With the silver-barred street in the midst,
Slow-moving,
A river leading nowhere.
Opposite my window,
The moon cuts,
Clear and round,
Through the plum-coloured night.
She cannot light the city:
It is too bright.
It has white lamps,
And glitters coldly.
I stand in the window and watch the
moon.
She is thin and lustreless,
But I love her.
I know the moon,
And this is an alien city.
9.9k
Society has good intentions Bureaucracy is like a friend
5 years ago - other furies other losses -
America's
trying to control the uncontrollable Forest fires, Vice
The essential smile In the essential sleep Of the children Of the essential mind
I'm
all thru playing the American
Now I'm going to live a good quiet life
The
world should be built for foot walkers
Oily
rivers Of spiney Nevady
I
am Jake Cake
Rake
Write like Blake
The
horse is not pleased Sight of his
gorgeous finery
in the dust Its silken
nostrils
did disgust
Cats
arent kind Kiddies anent sweet
April
in Nevada - Investigating Dismal Cheyenne Where the war parties
In fields
of straw
Aimed over oxen At Indian Chiefs
In wild headdress Pouring thru
the gap
In Wyoming plain
To make the settlers
Eat more dust than dust
was eaten In the States From East at Seacoast Where wagons made up To dreadful
Plains
Of clazer vup
Saltry
settlers
Anxious to ********** The Mongol Sea (I'm too tired in Cheyenne -
No sleep in 4 nights now, & 2 to go)
9.1k
Being walkers with the dawn and morning,
Walkers with the sun and morning,
We are not afraid of night,
Nor days of gloom,
Nor darkness--
Being walkers with the sun and morning.
8.1k
Behind all of the glamour
Hidden by the glitz
Under all the spray on tans
And distracted by the ****
Lies a Vegas like no other
Not the one you wish to see
The other side of Vegas
Has a cost, it isn't free
A parade of homeless people
Far off strip are daily seen
Heading for a bed and meal
Away from where the grass is green
The locals all accept it
It's a darker part of town
Where there's fewer painted smiles
On this Las Vegas clown
Every other building
Is boarded up or framed
In steel bar covered windows
With no winners at the game
The goal of all the walkers
Is to get to the next day
They can't afford to leave here
They can't afford to stay
Each walkway full of hawkers
Selling water for a buck
Passed out drunks all sleeping
Hoping you will toss a buck
Some saints and many sinners
Came to find the life they lead
Is not the one they looked for
When they came here to fill their greed
Don't look behind the curtain
You will not like what you will find
The darker side of Vegas
Is not one that's in your mind
A parade of desperate people
Walk the streets each night alone
Past the empty buildings
Pass the bail bonds, guns and loans
To truly see Las Vegas
You have to venture off the strip
Into a world of darkness
And in truth, it's a short trip
Behind the glitz and glamour
Away from where the tourists go
Is the dark side of Las Vegas
That only few will ever know
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 6:31 PM UTC
*She is on the street in her little kiosk ,
at the break of the dawn ,
When many are still on a lucid dream.
Selling the most delicious of grapes
Sourced straight from the vineyards
Assembling the previous day's discards all in a tray
Discards For humans it maybe ,
But
for her birds its a treat to relish .
Swooping
down for it ,day after day..
Mostly bought by the morning walkers ,
Many in numbers are they
old patrons , as they say.
Every day she sells her wares
Holding the loveliest of smile
That I have seen in years,
All Knowing , the pain that she hides behind .
Never misses a day nor business,
And back home she is before sundown.
Only to return the following day,
With a new stock ,at the break of the dawn.*
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 1:45 AM UTC
the hustle and bustle
of the morning shuffle
it's just enough
to keep you up
the stations and terminals
are coated
with sleep walkers
and sleep talkers
waiting for the inspiration
to come to life
that they always find
at the bottom
of empty coffee mugs
and tea cups
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
The Flower Sellers
Rushing with their bundles
The Milk Vendors
Cycling with their milk cans
The Newspaper boys
Sorting out their packets
The Morning walkers
Warming up and stretching
The Chai-walas
Pouring out their teas
The scarfed mill workers
Speeding for their shifts
The vegetable vendors
Carrying their head loads
The Suprabhatham
Flowing from a distant house
The night shift workers
Returning home.
The Municipality workers
Cleaning the streets..
*The city is waking up
Or did it ever sleep?*
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 7:37 PM UTC
We, the people of this country, in your eyes are:
babblers, bachelors, bafflers, baiters, barkers,
beakers, beaters, brawlers, blamers, beggars,
bloaters, bloopers, bombers, boozers, blunders,
bruisers, bafflers, bluffers, burglars and burners.
That's why you feel compelled to keep your foot on our heads
keep us down, put us down, push us down
subjugate us, belittle us, berate us.
We, the people of this country, in our eyes are:
butlers, bouncers, bakers, buyers, barbers,
cake-makers, delivery-takers, cocktail-shakers,
taxi drivers, cancer survivors, employers and hirers,
music makers, entertainers, window washers, foster takers,
plasterers, carpenters, scaffolders, sparks and builders,
boxers, carers, coaches, tailors, shoe makers,
designers, illustrators, multi-language facilitators,
dog walkers, dog trainers, bikers and cycle couriers,
doctors and nurses and all the emergency services.
We are the People, the reason you are where you are now
you sometimes forget that we exist as people, somehow
locked in your ivory towers with gold plated showers
and MP expenses and investment banker pretenses
this is not theater, its real life drama, its not just a bluff
its time to stand up
and say enough is enough.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC
The Eternal Journey
He kept moving in haste with no pauses
In his way, perhaps, eternal way
That walked sans sorrows, no joy, no applauses
To be remembered or to say
To other walkers of that way
Who moved without fear or being prey
To the momentary residences they did stay!
Alok Mishra
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 6:31 AM UTC
LET
THERE
BE
LIGHT
a
fierce
sun ******
vapors
into
a
thunderous
sky
which
wept
sixty
sextillion
tears
creating
a
riddled
calibration:
the river
time
we
came
cells
devouring
cells
metastasizing
into
life
first
cruel crawlers
then
stealthy stalkers
wicked walkers
and
finally
THE
terrible talkers
blasphemers
bending
time
asking
WHY
it
flows
?
we
are
they
who
have
no
shore
to
which
to
moor
on the river,
time
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 8:46 PM UTC
Tokyo
By Anthony Caceres
Flashing lights, Flashing people
Blurs of the past come to haunt
Blurs of the present come to taunt
Blurs of the future come to flaunt
Sitting here by the bus stop
Watching people fly by like the airplanes above
Everybody set their bodies to fast forward
While I’m rewinding as slow as I can
Reading the latest manga as I get ****** into the lights
Like some late night ramen
I feel like I can walk on air
A skywalker
I can’t escape the death walkers
I know
But I can slow them down, to a point
With a late night text
and the horns of rampaging cars
Busses and Bikes
Awkward mannerisms
and long hikes
Tokyo is far away
But as long as your still here with me
Tokyo will forever stay
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 9:02 AM UTC
One hour north of Oslo
It is spring morning.
I see my bus
Through my breath.
Up here it's cold until
The sun screams in the summer day
And whimpers red and spiteful all
Night;
We've barely seen it for six months.
Winter is white ground/black air;
Colour only in the cheeks of
Dog walkers
Under thick hats and wrapped in
Yards of scarf.
Life is magnificent when awakening
From annual cryo.
I smile at it from my seat.
It's almost time for my ritual.
Friday after work.
Alone.
The one beer, and the burning of
The Long Johns.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
the sky sinks its blue teeth
into the mountains.
Rising on pure will
(the lurch & lift-off,
the sudden swing
into wide, white snow),
I encourage the cable.
Past the wind
& crossed tips of my skis
& the mauve shadows of pines
& the spoor of bears
& deer,
I speak to my fear,
rising, riding,
finding myself
the only thing
between snow & sky,
the link
that holds it all together.
Halfway up the wire,
we stop,
slide back a little
(a whirr of pulleys).
Astronauts circle above us today
in the television blue of space.
But the thin withers of alps
are waiting to take us too,
& this might be the moon!
We move!
Friends, this is a toy
merely for reaching mountains
merely
for skiing down.
& now we're dangling
like charms on the same bracelet
or upsidedown tightrope people
(a colossal circus!)
or absurd winged walkers,
angels in animal fur,
with mittened hands waving
& fear turning
& the mountain
like a fisherman,
reeling us all in.
So we land
on the windy peak,
touch skis to snow,
are married to our purple shadows,
& ski back down
to the unimaginable valley
leaving no footprints.
4k
Its as if
A solemn oath
To reminiscence
Had memories
Had dreams
Are you tired of me yet?
It just seems
A luxury given
Fluffed pillows
Explaining the simplicity of slumber
Had a memory
Your a dream
Are you gone from me yet?
It was fact
Actuality
Nirvana upon purple hills
Had memories
Haunted dreams
Are you done with me yet?
It was peaceful
A gloomy rainy day
A solemn oath
A luxury given
Fluffed pillows
Nirvana upon purple hills
Delicious night
Filled by yellow pills
Are you high off me yet?
Its as if
You were a memory
Within a dream
A haunted nightmare
So it seemed
Stuck in limbo
Or purgatory
No longer deserving your glory
Naive
Gentle
Kisses
Sweet and simple
Sent me flying high
Are you tired of me yet?
Leave me to runaway
I'm Wilson
Castaway
I am gone from you yet..
Nirvana on purple hills
Fought the fray
Are you done with me yet?
Roaming
To home im phoning
Airplanes
Night walkers
Street and sweet talkers
Getting high off me yet?
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
We live in a world that's so cold
Where its more important to savour the flavour
Than stop life ending up on a fork and knife.
We do good deeds and preach our teachings to the younger future walkers of the earth.
We teach them what's right and what's wrong and get them to listen to our favourite song.
But life isn't important, no cpr classes in school no teachings of being an ***** donar.
We carry on teaching useless, pointless information.
We waste time and effort teaching religion when we don't even know who they will grow up to be.
We tell children to be nice to animals around the dinner table. Carving up what used to live and love now covered in Gravy beyond recognition of how it once was part of its own family.
Every year our biggest celebration Christmas where we celebrate the birth of jesus or just friendly old santa bringing us gifts. Picking out the biggest turkey to be stuffed glazed and cooked. Poor animal killed to celebrate life or joy.
It suck's being on the food chain. You're either above or below an other fellow earthling. Why not break the chain and be you. Not above me, not above a fish that swims faster than you. Not above a lion stronger than you. Not about the farm animals sitting at the bottom waiting to be bled and made into shrink wrapped food.
You take the nutrition from the animal that's spent its whole life collecting from plants. Why is the cow the middle man in this earth crime.
We have consciousness now we know what's right and wrong so why **** for the thrill of flavor. So sad we don't break this habit and mean it when we say to our children. Don't be mean to animals..
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 6:16 PM UTC
Off that windy bay wharf,
where old poets speak to lost walkers,
you dove into aporia
Morality the highest myth
dreaming conquered by Capital
shelter replaced by property
the immaterial, theft by sophistry
a bay carved from jade,
crescent moon.
horizon cradling distant storms
waves upon waves accelerating towards the shore.
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 1:03 AM UTC
the collar on my jacket is frayed
but I have clothes on my back
(just)
the packaging is white with green print
but I have food in my belly
(of sorts)
the soles talk and leak when I walk
but I have boots on my feet
(for now)
so I’m OK
(I suppose)
***** deep into the Smart Price ™ life
this man, his daughters, his son and his wife
where all their food comes at discounted price
expired meat and rationed heat
sweepings and fat wrapped in plastic
the walk was wholly unexpected, but it was easy
leaving the town where the forward leaning walkers
were the slowest thinking talkers steeped in sugary urgency,
and all the way we **** giltterballs and Skittles
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 8:41 AM UTC
Walking walkers
that soon vanish
around corners
Crazy
cracks
catch
crumbs crumbling in crevices.
And some man-made drilled drains
drum drum drops dripping droplets
down
drowning
drowning
drains for rats
Roaches run rampant
randomly.
Running rats reach
reeking rotten
radishes
as walking walkers
crush roaches
running rampant
randomly for crazy cracks
that catch crumbs crumbling in
crevices.
And running rats
reach
down
drains that
drip
droplets...
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 5:54 AM UTC
There are metallic, life-like statues of human figures scattered through my city, often on park benches. You must look twice the first time you spot them, and sometimes, each time, as they are so nat-ural, that they fool the retina image of man.
The traffic light,
red to green,
yet my limbs,
froze fruit solid,
release catch stuck,
unflippable,
somehow plastic freezes,
mobility skills rusted
by December's hampering
cheeky cheeks,
a seasonal reddish copper
discoloration of the extremities,
a harmony of no sensation
A comet stuck in
pedestrian neutral,
collided/jostled by
starry eyed
Fifth Avenue
street walkers and tourists.
my presence sensed,
touched, yet avoided,
unnoticed,
like streetlight,
lamppost, mailbox,
I am, a body,
at rest,
unseen
but on display
in the art gallery of
Manhattan's Lost and Found
In the section of the paper
where the
unimportant local news is
sliced n' diced
into single paragraphs,
of human interest,
tidbits, amuse bouche,
items of
major minor interest,
The New York Times
reported the discovery of an
unauthorized lifelike
bronze n' copper sculpture.
eyes of polished nickel,
heart of stained steel,
rendition of a man
so lifelike y'all do a
triple take, smile,
take a cell photo,
phone a friend
his embodiment can be found
on the rounded corner of
Columbus Circle, @59th St.,
where you enter Central Park.
upon a bench,
man clutching Sunday newspapers,
a pair of scissors,
coupons cut,
scattered at his feet.
a homely but comely,
****** expression,
one of bewilderment.
A tiny plaque on a brass plate,
at his feet,
hints of his progenitor and human origins.
Artist: Unknown,
Materials: Organic Metals
Title: A Living Finish
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 5:38 PM UTC
In tropical, moody Kolkata,
Autumn doesn't arrive
In a flurry of red leaves
Strewn to the winds
It arrives silently,
With hushed whispers
of wind into our ears
Slowly, the fallen leaves
Turn yellow
The warm, balmy breeze
Develops a bite to it
Secretly, some trees shed
Their clothes completely
In preparation for the chilled
Caresses of Winter
Mittens and monkey caps
Appear amongst the morning
Walkers and newspaper boys
The sun becomes lazy, reminiscent
in it's behavior, rising later and later
Each day, until 6 o'clock is a stretch
of Imagination
Autumn comes with muted footsteps
Hardly any time to appreciate it
Before it's gone and Winter sets in
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 4:53 AM UTC
I find it interesting,
The way we mold ourselves to the given situation
Different faces means new spaces
to fill liquid in, intoxicate, and ultimately change them.
So we need our weapons clasped in our grip
catch a bad intention, make sure they're the ones who slip...
No! We've been doing this all wrong.
Keeping the walls up inhibits growth to be strong
Even if it takes, "far, too long."
Inevitably we exclaim pitches that reside in the same song.
The color-changing, tree-walkers are said to blend into their environment.
This is actually not true.
They change based on light intensity, temperature, and mood.
The personality-changing, free-walkers change based,
On the type of reaction they want to get out of you.
After all you could be the ***** to hold together the whole scheme
Caught in a feverish nightmare, when it seemed to be a sweet dream
Solitary work is needed, now, to avoid a potential sting
And so I take the time to rhyme this,
Evaluating the nature of everything.
The mouth can be, but the eyes are not untruthful
They precipitate pictures, from the scary to the downright beautiful
Look deep within yourself, and see your own array of colors.
We may be blind to the importance of some priorities, but I feel we're all lovers.
"Hurt people hurt people," In my life it's a fact.
But remember you can only be responsible for how you act.
No offense or defensive tactics,
Throw the whole playbook out.
Conducting this vessel requires much practice,
Reflect needs of warmth for the seeds to sprout
Make sure you don't love someone, just for what they can give to you.
Highlight their radiance, for making you feel the way you do
The cycle, is only as vicious as one portrays it
The choice is ours, and I choose to change it.
Right here,
right now
Breathe in,
Feel the oxygen go down
Hold it,
For a moment
Every exhale reminds us,
That life's color is golden.
So fold up the clothes,
And walk out the door.
So many illuminated pigmentations to see,
~Everybody's a new world to explore~
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
Satan's Hotel
The waiting land of better days
just faded away just like that
the fields of righteousness are few
the fields lie in darkness
after the flame died away
Loneliness and darkness filled the soul
Drugs and cheep woman and men
That are selling their souls
Life had no meaning to them you could
see it in their zombie eyes
they live in Satan's hotel
the coldness of their souls is out to take
another young life into drug world
understanding the ways of the Life of
Darkness and gloom
Kids are walking around
thinking they are doing just fine
Just to find their
Mommy and daddy's killing of there
Souls to another blow
of the drug pip
oh, just look at their lives
look what they have done
they are walkers of the night
words has been spoken
Will **** one's life
If you would walk by
Satan's hotel you could feel the control of
the lost souls lost in the eternal blackness
never to be seen again.
something new has come
into another life
taking the demons in their mind
and a pipe in their hand
the young and the old under
the control of Satan's world
Parents looking all over town
wondering how to find their kid
then they hear there
Kids learned a new trick
for the angel of death
has arrived in that
cold sad lonely night
when another has taken a life
broken down of the drug world
Satan's world
when you check in to Satan's Hotel
the way that they act
is no way of coming back
to the way of better days ,
You can see the evil
in there eyes's an urge to ****
the desire is a thrill
to **** the good in another Soul
once upon a time
they had Jehovah in their lives
walked in the light
all of that had changed
when they said goodbye
and they let Satan's
in their lives by taking the drug pipe
Dark angel is all over
the place hunting for new souls
to take into their control
the broke word
that killed dreams of the young and
the old nobody there forgave sins
they just keep making them
The Drug fights take a blood bath of the knife
Behind the walls you can hear it all
The cry's of the night when
a baby cries to be fed why it's
Mommy is out doing what she knows best
So now the baby's grow up
to be the victim of prostitution
Of preconception and true damnation,
the young minds
Reaching out into a world
that is lost every time ,
They can no longer see
the twisting emotions that they live in
they will longing for
the person they once used to know
But that was long ago
Know they live in Satan's world.
Poetic Lilly Judy Emery (c)
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 9:18 PM UTC
The curse of the Night Walker
Ones who sought the traces of darkness
Of world and of soul
We see through the shades
We know the blindness
Some may be born
Some may be dragged
We know this darkness
Better than most
Daylight ignores us
Cruelty cages us
Even if we break free
It never changes
Day Walkers say they feel
Sorrow and doubt
When the Night Walker fades
When most never knew what made us
They pay a few kind words
Then walk
Day Walkers find it easy
To move away from darkness
Thinking candle light is enough
To light the path
When their flame is easy to extinguish
Flowers pelt the fallen's final rest
When petals wither
Never do Day Walkers
Have the burden of the souls
Which still linger
When the Day Walkers are blind
To the flickers of light the soul that still remain
The curse of the Night Walker
Is that we know too well
The sight of a lingering soul
Bound to a world
Where daylight seeks to hide us
Rather than shelter us
The curse of the Night Walker
Is that we hear
The shadows that continue to scream
To the horrors they felt
When they cast the form in which they became
The blessing of the Night Walker
Is that we also see
The distant stars in the sky
In which few of us see
As the destiny of the Night Walker
So we may guide others to the light
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer were a very notorious couple
of cats.
As knockabout clown, quick-change comedians, tight-rope
walkers and acrobats
They had extensive reputation. They made their home in
Victoria Grove—
That was merely their centre of operation, for they were
incurably given to rove.
They were very well know in Cornwall Gardens, in Launceston
Place and in Kensington Square—
They had really a little more reputation than a couple of
cats can very well bear.
If the area window was found ajar
And the basement looked like a field of war,
If a tile or two came loose on the roof,
Which presently ceased to be waterproof,
If the drawers were pulled out from the bedroom chests,
And you couldn’t find one of your winter vests,
Or after supper one of the girls
Suddenly missed her Woolworth pearls:
Then the family would say: “It’s that horrible cat!
It was Mungojerrie—or Rumpelteazer!”— And most of the time
they left it at that.
Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer had a very unusual gift of the
gab.
They were highly efficient cat-burglars as well, and
remarkably smart at smash-and-grab.
They made their home in Victoria Grove. They had no regular
occupation.
They were plausible fellows, and liked to engage a friendly
policeman in conversation.
When the family assembled for Sunday dinner,
With their minds made up that they wouldn’t get thinner
On Argentine joint, potatoes and greens,
And the cook would appear from behind the scenes
And say in a voice that was broken with sorrow:
“I’m afraid you must wait and have dinner tomorrow!
For the joint has gone from the oven-like that!”
Then the family would say: “It’s that horrible cat!
It was Mungojerrie—or Rumpelteazer!”— And most of the time
they left it at that.
Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer had a wonderful way of working
together.
And some of the time you would say it was luck, and some of
the time you would say it was weather.
They would go through the house like a hurricane, and no sober
person could take his oath
Was it Mungojerrie—or Rumpelteazer? or could you have sworn
that it mightn’t be both?
And when you heard a dining-room smash
Or up from the pantry there came a loud crash
Or down from the library came a loud ping
From a vase which was commonly said to be Ming—
Then the family would say: “Now which was which cat?
It was Mungojerrie! AND Rumpelteazer!”— And there’s nothing
at all to be done about that!
2.8k