Quotes about alleys, page 12
Football Friday
Friday nite, small towns, big city
Big lights, mark field
quietly awaiting
for bands, fans
school colors, school spirits
pep rally's, scoring alleys
big crowds, cheering fans
cheerleaders dancing, cheering
Root Root for the home team
balls flying, bodies diving
scrambles of run, bombs of passes
scoring touchdowns, holding them down
Win Win hail to our team
Lose Lose hold your heads high
there's another day to win the game
loading bus, cheers and jeers
what a night, for the fight
Win Win for the home crowd
Go Go we won't go
fight fight thru the night
[...] Read more
poem by Michael Peterson
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A Trip to Paris
A Trip to Paris
To enjoy a day Paris
Must be like an eternity in the clouds
One day I hope to my girl there, my little heirs
Go to the Tower, just shout “I love Paris” aloud
Although this maybe my first time here
I feel like I’m home, like I know this country
I know there are some dark places and alleys but I have yet to support fear
This is such a beautiful place, I’m glad it accepts me
As the sun goes down the night skies fill with promise
The stars are no help as the rays from their brightness illuminates the eyes of the river ways
Everything about this land seems too good to be true, she’s just so honest
Set up the way she wants to be makes me so happy I can’t see myself leaving this place.
A Tribute to Paris
poem by Boonk Jackson
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Layover
Making love in the sun, in the morning sun
in a hotel room
above the alley
where poor men poke for bottles;
making love in the sun
making love by a carpet redder than our blood,
making love while the boys sell headlines
and Cadillacs,
making love by a photograph of Paris
and an open pack of Chesterfields,
making love while other men- poor folks-
work.
That moment- to this. . .
may be years in the way they measure,
but it's only one sentence back in my mind-
there are so many days
when living stops and pulls up and sits
and waits like a train on the rails.
I pass the hotel at 8
and at 5; there are cats in the alleys
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poem by Charles Bukowski
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The Powerful and Their Drugs
Running the world is as
easy as rolling
righteousness in between the
Red, White, and Blue.
Wake and bake
with a bishop from Oaxaca.
Swiss banks sell speedballs
So you can soar to Sudan
like a seagull
But why go there?
Amsterdam, the back alleys of
China where cats
mumble their last meow,
Canada's so high they end
each sentence with an
'eh? '
Or it could be a birth
defect
from their
[...] Read more
poem by Malcolm McGill
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Night workers..
Night is frozen and full of dust,
Nocturnal creatures are out on lust,
Trainee painters colored the earth,
Using the shades of grey at the brush,
A few take the paint in the bucket,
Splatter the darker grey on the forest,
They think to color the rivers of blue,
Adding the grey to the blue, make it dark,
How hard they paint the civilization black,
The lights of men make it bright,
Bored of painting on the roads,
back alleys are pained with what they have,
Forgotten the painting of the sea,
They throw their balance paint and brush into it,
Before they finish the job and get paid,
The cleaner of the earth arrives from the Vacuum,
Sucked in all the dust from the horizon,
The perfectly visible earth emerges,
After the thawing of its all nightly desires.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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My friend, I Should Have Said
He dragged me with him all the way,
and held my hand meticulously to make me stay,
and to appear like he has forgotten that he will never be alone,
but I knew that my place was his house, and his my home.
So much similar, like almost same,
with the difference of just a name,
we played soccer in the alleys as we grew,
the matches we won were less than a few.
Nevertheless, we never played for victory,
for the victories were so queer in our history,
since we helped each other, in sorrow, in pain,
like we wanted to be like this, in havoc or in gain.
But the life wreaked havoc, I cried and paid,
the price of my chum, but the decision was made,
you will have to leave, sooner or late,
so tell your sidekick how much you love him, before he gets checkmate.
poem by Teal Sky
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By A Thousand Doors
perhaps now this ark is finished,
i can smell the distant dawn.
the light against the window be no stranger,
nor the sound of bare feet in the night.
the crows gather neath the pine tree,
as the wind prepares to die.
voices fallen from the trees,
mine a cloud, a branch, a stone.
it seems tonight the stars finally answer,
all this time i thought i was alone.
a child is born, a life is taken,
streetlights blink in perfect time.
while redemption sleeps in alleys,
and poets silently sweep.
the heart revealed no longer journeys,
for the destination be now the feet.
the tears of god gleam in the darkness,
a stranger's kiss, a soldier's prayer.
infidels gather jewels cast aside,
feed the hungry with human souls.
[...] Read more
poem by Eric Cockrell
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We Gather.....
i go to the place
where dead people pray...
i walk the stark streets,
struck dumb by poverty's tongue.
i follow voices into alleys
clothed in broken glass.
i lick the scars off buildings
where rats gather to dance.
ghosts never chant, 'i am black, i am white'...
they moan and simmer with calloused hands.
there are no heroes, no martys, no priests...
only the small boy in the doorstep,
with a broken kite.
who are we, who are we?
the sweat stained pelvis thrusts.
while armies gather to feed the crows.
and gods shatter into pulse and need,
orphans walk the womb lost without sight.
[...] Read more
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Love You More
Space between the kisses
Paris blue art
Color like the melting candle
Delivered from restrictive structure
Meaning in the relative streets
The times between the wars
Freedom like surreal gold wings
The mind is the greatest drug
I open to jazz like a hungry lion
Breeze washes through the trees
You are the Chloe of art
Bass notes rich with sultry life
Slow deep sax notes
Emotion brings new clouds
Opaque joy
Radiant past connected with narrow alleys
Universal light in sunsets of purple whispers
The baby cries in the other room
We always make love
We are sensuous rivers
[...] Read more
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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The Chill Wind
It's 5 O'Clock on a December morn
From out of the east the wind is borne
Dropping temperatures by 20 degrees
Bundle up or you will freeze
To some the cold's a thrill
Strapping on skis to race downhill
Myself, I'd rather be warm
Stay inside to weather the storm
Down streets and alleys it blows
The chill wind which never slows
Picking up debris along it's way
To leave blocks or miles away
But to work I have to go
Clad in layers from head to toe
Walk to the subway in this gale
Watching leaves and paper taking sail
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poem by Harry J. Couchon Jr
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