Best New Yorker Poems
My husband won a contest
On a weekly FM quiz
To prove to all who listen
What a “know-it-all” he is.
The prize is a certificate
And maybe some acclaim
From the kith and kin tuned in
When Jeff*, the DJ, says your name.
A call came through soon after
For the winner’s home address
And Jeff playfully explained to us,
As if it would impress:
“Now when you get your certificate,
It’s valuable to you.
When you go out to a restaurant,
This is what you need to do…”
So we thought, free meal or discount,
But that wasn’t what he said,
Though he had us both in stitches
By what he exclaimed instead:
“If your table has a wobble
In one leg a little bit,
Take your prize and fold and place it,
Very gently, under it.”
Well, this “know-it-all New Yorker”
Learned just what his title’s worth
But it added to our day
With the injection of some mirth.
*Jeff Spurgeon, WQXR-FM, NYC
Two years ago I left New York,
to find my luck somewhere else,
and in Waterbury, Connecticut I settled in a ranch-house,
which overlooked middle-class homes
groping on verdant slopes;
the night stars may have shined
a little brighter than in Manhattan,
without a trace of pollution or smog,
but the harsh winters made me dream again
of living in the warm streets of wonderful New York!
As I step out of my car into Fifth Avenue, by the entrance,
old acquaintances welcome the sweet return of a New Yorker;
and unto Columbus Circle I run toward Central Park:
it used to be my park, and my dog loved it by barking lauder,
and over little bridges I jogged as he chased me fervently;
there was no day in which I felt lonely...to want to escape from this city!
Here all neighbors met and chatted with a kind of stylish accent...
that all tourists love and find it extremely attractive!
When I look up...there the Empire State Building
is one of the wonders of my glamorous city that never disappoints anyone;
even night can't put it to sleep with its gloom;
and holidays always decorate it with spectacular lights:
like the yellow-bright daffodils that begin to bloom...
as happy faces greet the sweet return of a New Yorker...
driving on the Brooklyn Bridge bound for the New Jersey shore!
O greatest city, let me begin to write an ode that your people will sing!
Other cities are certainly beautiful and captivating as this one,
but none of them can spark inside that something so special...
the breath-taking view of the sky-scrapes in the August' moonlight,
the gracious waves of the East River and the ships that glide up and down the harbor;
and in this spot I met my sweet-heart with eyes like a Virginia sky, and hair
so soft and as red as the cheeks of a stuttering, drunken man!
Lady of a mysterious night, you vanished as the summer'
dawn erupted from the ocean's deep to forever preserve your delicate beauty!
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
Betty Page New York Paint
Armenian Trace
The child's water
Sailing luxury
Strings off from sight of Italy
Calmed duration
Inlands islands
Cotton spokes
A cats residence
Before memory of the shop
Key Lime
Cookie Thins
And Coffee
The French jam sister of yours
Plays at reunions
With herself
Go bothered, Erin
It's her? The sister it gave you?
Yes Betty
Kevin, she watches "Will He Become Trollops"
In England!
Very Interupt, two should hide in one often
If the subject is appealing,
I’ll, at first, begin to read,
Though the facts with which I’m dealing
Are way more than what I need.
All the knowledge that I’m gaining,
By the time I reach page 3,
Can’t prevent my interest waning
And I’m sure it’s not just me.
Aren’t the editors aware of
When a story is too long?
For as readers, we despair of
Lack of reining in what’s wrong.
What I mostly end up doing
Is abandoning, mid-stream,
Someone’s effort, rarely ruing
That it might be gaining steam.
Still, I’ll stick with my subscription;
Through its pages I will comb.
What might cause a true conniption
Is an enigmatic poem!
The New Yorker is having a birthday –
It’s made it to one hundred years.
With each story, cartoon, poem or essay,
It’s jump-started many careers.
Despite what it’s called, you can buy it
At newsstands or else go on line
And subscribe – since my brother did try it,
He gets his in the mail before mine!
Colorado is where he is living;
We both read it and then we discuss
All the articles that it keeps giving
To curious people like us.
I have some complaints – sometimes writing
Prattles on many pages too long
And most poems, instead of delighting,
Make no sense and I don’t think I’m wrong.
Yet I’m happy for every arrival,
With a crossword to tackle, as well,
And I hope its continued survival
Will outlast those whom truth would dispel.
Here living in the city of New York,
Those who oppose me will fall
Even though many are kind to me
People and its city must perish
Great damage was done to me
The only option left is to destroy everything
O you were so kind to me but I must destroy
The life in New York City is harsh
Whatever was done now will be undone
Opposers will stumble like falling angels
Sorry my brothers but you must perish
Kindness is not enough, you must show love
That’s what the world knows less, “LOVE”
Destruction will fall upon its ruins
In battle brothers died without shame
Harshness is what describes death
Angels look up to me to make peace
Time will tell if you deserve it
I, the one justice holder have been damaged
Enough is never enough unless you’re soft
The one thing I hate to do
The ruins of a building never come back
But the phoenix is the ultimate price
Bombs did their job, the city was left alone
The people were sorry
I’ve been a coward my entire life
The price to pay is really high
Softness is the weakness of the heart
Everything seems so weak and disproportioned
Falling stars will support who I am
Like snow melts, people will hate
Dust covered the brothers and buried their bodies
Hope did its job, keep people on their toes
I became brave and overcame my fears
Love gave me strength and made me fierce
Living here in New York, the war is over.
New York City will fall,
But the kind will not perish
For one option left is done destroying the rest.