So I've decided that I'm finally going to post the poems that I've written this semester on my blog. I've written four poems so far, and have one more to go for the semester. Hopefully you all find them at least interesting or maybe somewhat good. But if you don't, my feelings won't be hurt...
New York's Streets
I'm looking out on Forty-Seventh Street,
Where tourists mix with the New Yorker fleet:
Head down, they don't look up at anyone,
They wait at crosswalks, cross, and then they're gone.
The yellow cabs are weaving in and out.
They honk horns, flipping fingers, as they shout,
"Move Asshole!" at the startled, lost sightseers
Who want to find out where the theater is.
Above their heads a billboard, brightly green,
Shows a buff Tarzan swinging vine to vine.
And next to him pangs Puff Daddy's facade,
Wearing a velvet jumpsuit, selling Sean John.
He holds one fist raised high into the air,
Looks down on people sifting everywhere.
The travelers stop and stare, to catch a glimpse
Of skyscrapers that fade into the mist.
They snap their pictures to take back and share
With everyone they know who's not been there.
New Yorkers all push past, in hast for work,
Obstacles and hurdles just for the perk
Of living in the city that never sleeps -
Tourists - the reason for the streets upkeep.
nearby and to the right, a chocolate store,
Piled high with Kisses, Syrup, and S'mores.
The pyramids of chocolate bars invite
The wanderers, both young and old alike
To Willy Wonka's New York habitation
With sweets enough to fill Grand Central Station.
With every passing of the subway train,
The whole scene vibrates in the windowpane.
The Painted Garden
The fingers smear the paints in circles
Covering the page in reds
And blues and greens and purples - grown
Into five flower beds.
The index finger is now dragged down
In a vertical line of green
To start the first stalk of the four flowers -
A child's daisy scene.
And at the bottom of each stem,
It draws two leaf-like shapes
So quickly that they seem like pools
Of water a hard rain makes.
The fingers shape a yellow core,
Swirling in wobbly loops.
Then daisy's petals are outlined
By five uneven hoops.
Above the flowers a fingertip
Spirals and circles as
It blues in all the white except
The trails of cloudy gauze.
These are the two poems I've written so far that I've actually gotten around to editting. Enjoy!
New York's Streets
I'm looking out on Forty-Seventh Street,
Where tourists mix with the New Yorker fleet:
Head down, they don't look up at anyone,
They wait at crosswalks, cross, and then they're gone.
The yellow cabs are weaving in and out.
They honk horns, flipping fingers, as they shout,
"Move Asshole!" at the startled, lost sightseers
Who want to find out where the theater is.
Above their heads a billboard, brightly green,
Shows a buff Tarzan swinging vine to vine.
And next to him pangs Puff Daddy's facade,
Wearing a velvet jumpsuit, selling Sean John.
He holds one fist raised high into the air,
Looks down on people sifting everywhere.
The travelers stop and stare, to catch a glimpse
Of skyscrapers that fade into the mist.
They snap their pictures to take back and share
With everyone they know who's not been there.
New Yorkers all push past, in hast for work,
Obstacles and hurdles just for the perk
Of living in the city that never sleeps -
Tourists - the reason for the streets upkeep.
nearby and to the right, a chocolate store,
Piled high with Kisses, Syrup, and S'mores.
The pyramids of chocolate bars invite
The wanderers, both young and old alike
To Willy Wonka's New York habitation
With sweets enough to fill Grand Central Station.
With every passing of the subway train,
The whole scene vibrates in the windowpane.
The Painted Garden
The fingers smear the paints in circles
Covering the page in reds
And blues and greens and purples - grown
Into five flower beds.
The index finger is now dragged down
In a vertical line of green
To start the first stalk of the four flowers -
A child's daisy scene.
And at the bottom of each stem,
It draws two leaf-like shapes
So quickly that they seem like pools
Of water a hard rain makes.
The fingers shape a yellow core,
Swirling in wobbly loops.
Then daisy's petals are outlined
By five uneven hoops.
Above the flowers a fingertip
Spirals and circles as
It blues in all the white except
The trails of cloudy gauze.
These are the two poems I've written so far that I've actually gotten around to editting. Enjoy!
