Quotes about depot, page 2
Fresno
I could almost
live here.
It’s like a real city.
People think it’s
big,
but it still seems
small to me.
I live in L.A.
Someday it will
be like this
everywhere,
with Rite Aid
Drug Stores,
Home Depot
Home
Improvement
Centers,
AM-PM Minimarts,
Starbuck’s Coffee Shops,
and Kinko’s Copies
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poem by Theresa Haffner
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Two Kinds Of People
i was thinking about
Martin Luther King...
and the tobacco road south...
old men in overalls chewing
toothpicks down at the depot.
furniture factory ghosts,
cheap gasoline, old trucks...
fried squash and okra,
and the smell of cornbread cooking.
and the right of every child
to have an equal education...
the right of every man, and woman,
to be free.... free, and proud...
they cut down them old trees...
hell, we always thought there
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Walking West
Anyone with quiet pace who
walks a gray road in the West
may hear a badger underground where
in deep flint another time is
Caught by flint and held forever,
the quiet pace of God stopped still.
Anyone who listens walks on
time that dogs him single file,
To mountains that are far from people,
the face of the land gone gray like flint.
Badgers dig their little lives there,
quiet-paced the land lies gaunt,
The railroad dies by a yellow depot,
town falls away toward a muddy creek.
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poem by William Stafford
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My Grandfather
my grandfather drowned
while fishing...
i was only fourteen,
i took the call.
in the whirl of
funeral arrangements,
preachers, headstones,
and old hymns...
too much was forgotten.
he gave me my first
pocket knife, showed me
how to sharpen it....
when i grew up
i sharpened knives
for all the women
in the neighborhood.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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HOW I DID YOU...by talile ali
HOW I DID YOU
TAKE ME TO THE DEPOT
TICKET PUT AWAY
TIME FOR SOME FORGIVENESS
TIME FOR SAVING FACE
HAIR SHAGGED AND NAPPY
SMELL JUST LIKE A HORSE
SO MUCH REAL DISASTER
LIFE SURE RUN ITS COURSE
HYSTERICS TURNED TO LAUGHTER
OCCASSIONALLY WORDED WITH DIVORCE
BABY, IT DON'T MATTER
HOW I'M SCREWED TODAY
SO LONG AS SOME LAUGHTER
GENTLY CROSS YOUR FACE
DOWN ON THE CANAL ONCE
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poem by Talile Ali
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The City is a Poet
Church basements with AA meetings
Creeds have reached into the walls
Moved by the coffee shop art
Farmers market with no GMO's
Organic friends and underground papers
Open museums alive with symbols
The rivers and old train depot
I buy you a flower for your hair
We glide down sun set streets
Castles and stores
Mannequins dressed for a haberdashery
Garlic bread and wine
High heels click like clocks
A kiss under the cathedral lights
I am the university
You are the plays
These stones quarried in blues
The jazz of urban night
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poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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A snowflake’s Revenge
My brother died upon a tongue
But now I with my legions come
Pelting down like frosty rain
with drifts up to your window pane.
Your women to the market race
As if food won’t be seen again
And you make your Home Depot run
As if some salt will stop my friends
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poem by John F. McCullagh
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plasma Screen
It was an absent answer. Terror
was one abyss in unhindered
waking of eternity in being. The passions rise
between downpour of black rings on the terraces,
was nonstop a parade of excuses and pretentions, no
body was taking the responsibility of the war lost, and
we nod in unison. Hunger drives the wedge. This
is a city of moonless sky where the headcount
never stops.
Warriors sit down under the volts opening red
eyes, the trade gets a bad name, rubbers
win the coin. Yellow metal gleams around arms,
a wound becomes a talisman, you start collecting
the awards from severed hands.
Satish Verma
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poem by Satish Verma
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Huge and Hefty Pockets
A man in his eighties...
Admits to sleeping,
In his mansion.
With young blond girls.
And he is loved...
For the sordid decadent parties he throws.
A King of Pop...
Shares his gigantic bedroom,
For 'his' biological children...
And others to play.
Some even on his bed!
Where he would sometimes lay.
Perhaps to rest.
And enjoy his peace.
He even admitted to sleeping with them as well.
After they've played and rode on the carousel.
Or rode the train that surrounds the land.
Sharng this 'Neverland' to have the kids feel grand.
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Pumping Protocol
Pranab k c
13/09/2011
Lines are lost from the morning page
as soon I composed in computy craze
current betrayed with sudden breakage
out it goes from memory garrage
Idea snatched my floating footing
captured being with word pumping
how does it contact beauty bumming
know not mystery of staying starving
pumping dictates a process filling
away the men from depot proceeding
who never thinks what lies within
beauty from past to present prevailing
lines when lost opens passage obscene
me and you took Ceaser to Catherine
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poem by Pranab K. Chakraborty
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