Long Nyc Poems
Long Nyc Poems. Below are the most popular long Nyc by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nyc poems by poem length and keyword.
They say I inflated
It's they that conflated
Political lies with their version of facts.
The mess they created
Will long be debated
Another attempt to silence and styme.
As often I've stated
Which leaves them frustrated
I'm worth every cent of the Billions I claim.
The reason I'm fated
And by some surely hated
Is my obvious success and the money I make.
Letitia's now grated
Quite a bit aggravated
That her bark is so hollow with clearly no bite.
Not one to be intimidated
My strength celebrated
Let them throw what they will and watch it dissolve.
My lawyers are rated
This case armor plated
Watch these bogus new charges soon dissipate.
In the meantime I've slated
For the fans I've created
More rallies to drive my winning points home.
I'm buoyed and elated
Evermore motivated
For the White house to bask in my presence once more.
*** At Age Seventeen ***
At 17, the wooden heels of my boots echoed
My audacious immaturity along my entire way
exploring
Manhattan’s south-end area. Its long blocks, I routed
For the reason of simply seeing.
In the route I took through that then unknown section,
My young lack of any preparation was foolishly profound,
Although during all that afternoon, I passed only huge,
Blackened windows; met only vacant streets, endless concrete.
Except for the resounding echoes of my clop-clopping
Heels going on, on, so starkly conspicuous; my pacing
Possibly — dangerous — sourrounded by mal-intents;
hearing no sirens, no horns…Just the ominous sounds
Of my own very isolating heels strikind the ground
in an otherwise quiet, misplaced in any city’s midst.
My mother had often told me, “There’s safety in numbers.”
I heard myself grumbling, “Nothing! So empty
here in a city of millions!”
In the face of that strange, puzzling reality,
I felt lost and uneasy, so that those few hours yet remain
— more than fifty years later — vividly
In memory, often repeating, leaping up to recount for me
some lessons of faith and humility.
The loss of all sense of place in the face
Of the echoes and the fear, and, too, the hidden,
extraordinary city’s separated, absent populace…so used
In the long-lasting lesson my conscience speaks patiently,
“Poor girl. Give thanks! You went so far only
Due to God’s always interceeding way embracing you.”
-—————————————————————————————————————————
(c) 1/30/23 sally young eslinger
Thanks be to God…
Coffee shops bloom into aroma.
New York City
spew on the sidewalk.
This day Lord if you care;
in the timpani of each mind
thunder your long bong songs.
Bless the rats in their
dank hid-ey-holes
bless the thrice gnawed pizza.
Thunder sweetly
in the pidgins throat,
forgive us our lox & bagels
and let the dawn excavate us
from the weed soaked
down-town funk.
Lord, if you care
and if that `care'
is You in us
then let the Big Apple
be newborn
and not maggoty.
Not a place of filth
and fading beauty,
but each of us
a lamp in a city of lights,
and dear Lord,
please turn us on.
One, two, three, four
Hardwood seeds planted on the floor
Trying to get to the final round
Championship bound
Who is your pick?
Cavs or Knicks
Garden parties are always filled with fame
WKRP broadcasted CBS’s Street manipulated game
Late night tape delayed
News wondered if Vietnam POWs completed the trade
Newly launched ESPN, soon took charge
Captaining the NBA barge
Cruising a hoop dream
Love Boat holiday network floated up stream
While Peacock’s spurs shine
Thundering, shaking the western spine
Enjoying an entertaining time
That cannot be declined
Or denied
Since the audience will find
Two winners survive
Not saying their seasonal goodbyes
Wanting to extend
And defend
The scoring message they send
Larry O’Brien’s trophy is for the best
Acknowledging acing basketballs premier climatic spring test
‘We are the champions’ winners will sing
Sporting awarded new flashy rings
Say senora to the winter blues
And welcome summer leagues with air condition that is cool
Frigid temperatures filled the square
Rigid opponents chilled the air
Deriding him a radical socialist
Unbridling the race to get him off a ballot list
The city was arm in arm, in protest daily
Whites, Blacks, Arab and Israeli
and what came up to all’s surprise
Mayor elect—Mamdani’s rise
Along came the 112th Mayor elect
Strong spent are the people who'd select
Lines stretched around doters
Awaiting hours were his voters
Indulges in a city reborn it’s bagels and lox
Sworn in over the subway station docks
Hand upon Islam’s holy text
A marvel of a man who’ll govern next
Swearing words of conviction and not of pity
I swear, to bolster and defend this dynamic city
Mayor Mamdani
promises New York City ~
a hopeful journey
New Year's Day
1/1/26
New York City at night,
Is like an upscale carnival filled with lights,
Message boards and fancy advertisements,
Keeps one’s eyes in perpetual excitement,
Call a taxi, you’ll go exceptionally fast,
Like the gravitron that’s spin makes you gasp,
Walk a mile or two,
And the volume of brightness will illuminate your view,
On some blocks you feel like you’re in outer space,
Bridges are the stars, that from a distance, stunt your pace,
The buildings begin to possess Saturn’s rings,
Streets look like the universe drenched in colorful strings,
New York City at night,
A giant meteor shower of visual delight.
By: Sabina Nicole
Written: 1-14-12
Contest: Lights at Night in a City
This envisioning is so cliché
It is making my cheeks so rosé:
A lightly tanned brunette couple
Walking through alleys so unsupple...
Above their handholding and umbrellas,
In the pouring rain, walking among fellas.
Then suddenly he stops and turns to her,
Drops his umbrella and kisses ever deeper.
But it's just all a New York City fantasy,
A reality that may or may never come to be.
All I can see is he and I having coffee,
Then an electro swing song sets me free.
Indeed it is a hope and dream all so cliché,
As a hopeless romantic can't help it anyway.
Maybe he's more than someone new,
Maybe someday we'll share a few.
When summer sizzles energy fizzles
you can fry an egg on the sidewalk
New York city cooks like a griddle
it's too hot to make small talk
there's a place I know where you can find me
it don't cost a dime come on up and join me
when midday swelters pavement's melting
yellow taxi cabs gasp for breath
it's so hot my brain feels like popping
even my shadow starts to sweat
if the Jersey Shore's not your scene
can't take the crowds come on up and join me
got my sounds got my shades
got my cooler got it made
I could use a little help with my suntan lotion
so tell me who needs an ocean
up on Tar Beach overlooking city streets
Tar Beach leave your cares below
if you want to beat the heat
Tar Beach NYC is where we you an' me
Tar Beach is where we can go
Last night, Lisa, Peter, Leeza and I were in her father’s 50th floor study watching New York City. It’s a corner room with glass walls from floor to ceiling. He likes to watch the city himself and has a small, 5 seat sectional couch facing the view.
The left wall window looks across Hell’s Kitchen to exactly where Sully Sullenberger crash landed flight 1549 in the Hudson river (it was 3:31 pm and no one was home). The right window overlooks Central Park and Upper Manhattan. Lincoln Center, almost dead center of the corner, looks like part of a toy train-set.
The view is a wheeling, ever changing and mesmerizing panorama. Well lit ships, barges and boats move glacially against the ink black Hudson. Jets in expressway-like holding patterns (Newark Liberty, and Teterboro airports left window - LaGuardia, right window) blink, like waving angels, helicopters buzz below like insects and the traffic, far, far below, forms a living chain of red and white lights which can erupt with nugatory hues of police blue at any moment.
While we watch, we’re playing a game of “Would you rather.” It’s a game of situational trade-offs, like “Would you rather listen to the same 10 songs forever or have to watch the same 5 movies forever? Of course, most people say the movies - because they last longer and there would be fewer repeats.
We take turns asking these critical questions - pausing, occasionally, to point out things below.
“Would you rather be in a crowded elevator with a bunch of noisy high school students or pinned in with a bunch of judgemental, middle aged men? The girls chose the students, even though high schoolers can be mean. Peter chose to be with the men.
“Would you rather find your true love or a suitcase with 5 million dollars?” We all chose love.
“Would you rather hike or camp?” Both were unpopular if they involved going to the bathroom outside - which creeps the girls out.
“Would you rather give up your computers or your pets (forever)?” THAT was a stressful one.
.
.
My movies: Clueless, Rushmore, Moonstruck, Shakespeare in love, Dr. Zhivago
Have you ever lived in a tall building? Dawn strikes suddenly and irradiates these glass-walled, high-rise rooms. Lisa showed me how quickly the thick windows - if you press your face against them - go from cold to warm in the morning's stark glare.
On the streets below, beneath the horizon, darkness remains
as if there were, briefly, two worlds separate but side by side -
one, a night place and the other bleached in fierce sunbeams.
The rooms have no curtains, just motorized shades that go up and down as needed - but in reality, they’re always up. Central Park is the only thing across the street and we’re so high up (50th floor) no one can see in. It’s odd, dressing in uncurtained, glass lined rooms or bathing in curtain-less bathrooms - there’s a titillating freedom to it.
I find myself imagining that we’re angels floating in the clouds,
looking down upon man and his creations - but then I’m reminded,
by vertigo or by digging a charger out of my luggage, that I’m just
a mortal, sporting a temporary visa to this high-rise heaven.
.
.
ps
In proofing this before posting it, I had to smirk at how,
of all the qualities of high-rise life, I wrote about the
curtain-less feature and I wonder if that paints me either
a p3rv or a prude. I even debated deleting it, but *shrug*