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Rhapsody

515 Madison Avenue
door to heaven? portal
stopped realities and eternal licentiousness
or at least the jungle of impossible eagerness
your marble is bronze and your lianas elevator cables
swinging from the myth of ascending
I would join
or declining the challenge of racial attractions
they zing on (into the lynch, dear friends)
while everywhere love is breathing draftily
like a doorway linking 53rd with 54th
the east-bound with the west-bound traffic by 8,000,000s
o midtown tunnels and the tunnels, too, of Holland

where is the summit where all aims are clear
the pin-point light upon a fear of lust
as agony's needlework grows up around the unicorn
and fences him for milk- and yoghurt-work
when I see Gianni I know he's thinking of John Ericson
playing the Rachmaninoff 2nd or Elizabeth Taylor
taking sleeping-pills and Jane thinks of Manderley
and Irkutsk while I cough lightly in the smog of desire
and my eyes water achingly imitating the true blue

a sight of Manahatta in the towering needle
multi-faceted insight of the fly in the stringless labyrinth
Canada plans a higher place than the Empire State Building
I am getting into a cab at 9th Street and 1st Avenue
and the Negro driver tells me about a $120 apartment
"where you can't walk across the floor after 10 at night
not even to pee, cause it keeps them awake downstairs"
no, I don't like that "well, I didn't take it"
perfect in the hot humid morning on my way to work
a little supper-club conversation for the mill of the gods

you were there always and you know all about these things
as indifferent as an encyclopedia with your calm brown eyes
it isn't enough to smile when you run the gauntlet
you've got to spit like Niagara Falls on everybody or
Victoria Falls or at least the beautiful urban fountains of Madrid
as the Niger joins the Gulf of Guinea near the Menemsha Bar
that is what you learn in the early morning passing Madison Avenue
where you've never spent any time and stores eat up light

I have always wanted to be near it
though the day is long (and I don't mean Madison Avenue)
lying in a hammock on St. Mark's Place sorting my poems
in the rancid nourishment of this mountainous island
they are coming and we holy ones must go
is Tibet historically a part of China? as I historically
belong to the enormous bliss of American death

poem by Frank O'Hara
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Related quotes

February 23

Light rain is falling in Central Park
but not on Upper Fifth Avenue or Central Park West
where sun and sky are yellow and blue
Winds are gusting on Washington Square
through the arches and on to LaGuardia Place
but calm is the corner of 8th Street and Second Avenue
which reminds me of something John Ashbery said
about his poem "Crazy Weather" he said
he was in favor of all kinds of weather
just so long as it's genuine weather
which is always unusually bad, unusually
good, or unusually indifferent,
since there isn't really any norm for weather
When he was a boy his mother met a friend
who said, "Isn't this funny weather?"

It was one of his earliest memories

poem by David Lehman
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All I Did Was Admire Her Aloud

"Quiet, please, " I tell her,
"I want to hear the music."
She is sitting next to me again,
this time on a paisley couch,
a woman in a lime bikini I met
only this morning sprawled
on the Morse Avenue Beach.
All I did was admire her aloud,
not recognize her age, and an hour later
she brought me home with her.
Now she is curling into me again
and moaning at a remarkable pitch.
Finally she spits into my neck
what it's all about
this time and every time
"Honey…I am…coming."

poem by Donal Mahoney
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Sonnet V: Nothing But No

Nothing but "No," and "Aye," and "Aye," and "No"?
How falls it out so strangely you reply?
I tell ye, Fair, I'll not be answer'd so,
With this affirming "No," denying "Aye."
I say, "I love," you slightly answer "Aye";
I say, "You love," you pule me out a "No";
I say, "I die," you echo me an "Aye";
"Save me," I cry, you sigh me out a "No";
Must woe and I have nought but "No" and "Aye"?
No I am I, if I no more can have;
Answer no more, with silence make reply,
And let me take myself what I do crave.
Let "No" and "Aye" with I and you be so;
Then answer "No," and "Aye," and "Aye" and "No."

poem by Michael Drayton
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At play

Play that you are mother dear,
And play that papa is your beau;
Play that we sit in the corner here,
Just as we used to, long ago.
Playing so, we lovers two
Are just as happy as we can be,
And I'll say "I love you" to you,
And you say "I love you" to me!
"I love you" we both shall say,
All in earnest and all in play.

Or, play that you are that other one
That some time came, and went away;
And play that the light of years agone
Stole into my heart again to-day!
Playing that you are the one I knew
In the days that never again may be,
I'll say "I love you" to you,
And you say "I love you" to me!
I love you!" my heart shall say
To the ghost of the past come back to-day!

Or, play that you sought this nestling-place
For your own sweet self, with that dual guise
Of your pretty mother in your face
And the look of that other in your eyes!
So the dear old loves shall live anew
As I hold my darling on my knee,
And I'll say "I love you" to you,
And you say "I love you" to me!
Oh, many a strange, true thing we say
And do when we pretend to play!

poem by Eugene Field
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Revolt In The Ranks

I have just spent one-hour-and-a-half
handicapping tomorrow's
card.
when am I going to get at the poems?
well, they'll just have to wait
they'll have to warm their feet in the
anteroom
where they'll sit gossiping about
me.
"this Chinaski, doesn't he realize that
without us he would have long ago
gone mad, been dead?"
"he knows, but he thinks he can keep
us at his beck and call!"
"he's an ingrate!"
"let's give him writer's block!"
"yeah!"
"yeah!& quot;
"yeah!"
the little poems kick up their heels
and laugh.
then the biggest one gets up and
walks toward the door.
"hey, where are you going?" he is
asked.
"somewhere where I am
appreciated."
then, he
and the others
vanish.

poem by Charles Bukowski
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Ang tunay na lalaki (The Real Man) Stalks in the Streets of New York

Looking to harvest what makes him happy.
The AA meetings have thrown
him into iconoclastic jousts with Titans
and Gorgons with glowing snake eyes
and leather pants. This is life
without the Filipino bottle,
without the star fruit boogie,
without the "bomba" films. He wears black
Dr. Martens boots because slippers
would expose his "provinciano" feet
to the snow. He wants to ride
the back of a caribou and bolt
up Madison Avenue screaming
like Tandang Sora or shout
"hala-bira! hala-bira! hala-bira!"
like his Isneg cousins in Aklan.
"Ay, susmaryosep!" Such bad behavior
from the "true male" of Filipino
advertising. He looks at his reflection
on a book store window, notices
that his hair has grown shoulder-length
like Tonto in the Lone Ranger
he would watch on TV. He turns to the right,
his profile now looks like the young Bruce Lee
as Kato in the Green Hornet. Yes,
he realizes it will always be the face
of a supporting character. Rejected
from the Absolut Vodka magazine ads,
he decides to change his name
for an upcoming afternoon audition
for a Preparation H commercial - "Al Moranas",
American but with a Filipino flare.

poem by Nick Carbo
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The Oldest Song

For before Eve was Lilith. -- Old Tale.

"These were never your true love's eyes.
Why do you feign that you love them?
You that broke from their constancies,
And the wide calm brows above them!

This was never your true love's speech.
Why do you thrill when you hear it?
You that have ridden out of its reach
The width of the world or near it!

This was never your true love's hair, --
You that chafed when it bound you
Screened from knowledge or shame or care,
In the night that it made around you!"

"All these things I know, I know.
And that's why my heart is breaking!"
"Then what do you gain by pretending so?"
"The joy of an old wound waking."

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Masked Face

I found me in a great surging space,
At either end a door,
And I said: "What is this giddying place,
With no firm-fixéd floor,
That I knew not of before?"
"It is Life," said a mask-clad face.

I asked: "But how do I come here,
Who never wished to come;
Can the light and air be made more clear,
The floor more quietsome,
And the doors set wide? They numb
Fast-locked, and fill with fear."

The mask put on a bleak smile then,
And said, "O vassal-wight,
There once complained a goosequill pen
To the scribe of the Infinite
Of the words it had to write
Because they were past its ken."

poem by Thomas Hardy
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Love Lies Sleeping

Earliest morning, switching all the tracks
that cross the sky from cinder star to star,
coupling the ends of streets
to trains of light.

now draw us into daylight in our beds;
and clear away what presses on the brain:
put out the neon shapes
that float and swell and glare

down the gray avenue between the eyes
in pinks and yellows, letters and twitching signs.
Hang-over moons, wane, wane!
From the window I see

an immense city, carefully revealed,
made delicate by over-workmanship,
detail upon detail,
cornice upon facade,

reaching up so languidly up into
a weak white sky, it seems to waver there.
(Where it has slowly grown
in skies of water-glass

from fused beads of iron and copper crystals,
the little chemical "garden" in a jar
trembles and stands again,
pale blue, blue-green, and brick.)

The sparrows hurriedly begin their play.
Then, in the West, "Boom!" and a cloud of smoke.
"Boom!" and the exploding ball
of blossom blooms again.

(And all the employees who work in a plants
where such a sound says "Danger," or once said "Death,"
turn in their sleep and feel
the short hairs bristling

on backs of necks.) The cloud of smoke moves off.
A shirt is taken of a threadlike clothes-line.
Along the street below
the water-wagon comes

throwing its hissing, snowy fan across
peelings and newspapers. The water dries
light-dry, dark-wet, the pattern
of the cool watermelon.

I hear the day-springs of the morning strike
from stony walls and halls and iron beds,
scattered or grouped cascades,
alarms for the expected:

queer cupids of all persons getting up,
whose evening meal they will prepare all day,
you will dine well
on his heart, on his, and his,

so send them about your business affectionately,
dragging in the streets their unique loves.
Scourge them with roses only,
be light as helium,

for always to one, or several, morning comes
whose head has fallen over the edge of his bed,
whose face is turned
so that the image of

the city grows down into his open eyes
inverted and distorted. No. I mean
distorted and revealed,
if he sees it at all.

poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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5th Avenue

Written by gerry beckley, 1984
Found on perspective.
Walking down 5th avenue
I saw him walking there with you
People see and people talk
Word travels fast round my block
Might just save you the price of writing
I could save you an hour or two
Walking down 5th avenue
Walking down 5th avenue
Dont know what to ask of you
My mind is gettin so confused
Even when I really try
Keeps sounding like Im saying goodbye
Somewhere deep in my heart Im hurtin
cause I keep on remembering you
Walking down 5th avenue
Walking down 5th avenue
Such a long way to go
How many times must I look up and say
What kind of fool am i
But I cant turn my back on the times that we shared
No matter how I try
Walking down 5th avenue
Cant seem to shake the thought of you
Even in the dark of night
Your memories of shining light
Though Im tryin to change direction
I pray what I saw aint true
Walking down 5th avenue
Walking down 5th avenue
Such a long way to go
Do, do, do, do ...

song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Overture -- Cotton Avenue

A red sun came rolling down a grey sky
And the frogs and dogs and night birds then
Started up singing sweet country lullaby
You see that patch of city lights-
Somewhere in there's Cotton Avenue-
That's where I'm going to take myself tonight
With a spit shine on my dancing shoes
If you got a place like that to go
You just have to go there
If you got no place special
Well then, you just go no place special
I guess it's just the summer in the young blood
Ripe and juicy in the young blood
Teasing to go down to ...
Cotton Avenue
To hear the shiny shiny music
See all the shiny people dancing to it
Anytime you go to ...
Cotton Avenue
If you got a place like that to go
You know you got to go there
If you got no place special
Well then, you just go no place special
You see that summer storm brewing in the southern sky
By the time it hits here I'll be dancing high and dry
To rhythm and blues
On Cotton Avenue
Poor boys'll be hanging around outside in the street
They got all the latest words
They're dancing to the latest beat
While they're hustling and sizing you
On Cotton Avenue
If you got a place like that to go
You just have to go there
If you've got no place special
Well my dear
You just so no place ... special

song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Go to hell

Go to hell, go to hell'
Blasted one young teen
"What am I doing on net? "
"You are doing nonsense, I bet"

Taken a back for a while
Fumed and just disappeared the smile
was I so unwelcome or wrong?
Had I no place to find friends among?

I am in my teen, and not yet twenty
you may have lived with years plenty
"Are you not ashamed' to be on net"
"Dear you can blast, but have we ever met? " I asked

No, but you have commitment a sin
Put your ideas in just dust bin
Whether be it pot or simple tin
I will not let you allow to score point or win

I said "Dear calm down"
You aren't the only one in town
You may frown, eyes may turn brown
Not only 'hell', but use and add another noun

Not only sex on phone but nudity too
Still may be there simple purity to be true
Why do not you make point or just clarity?
What can be best quality to justify? I argued

"No then also, you just go to hell"
You need no alarms pr bell
It will be bad if you stick here and perform well
"Consider it right now and jump in the well" She argued

Oh, dear teen, you are simple kid
You know not and have no lid
Candle can be lit and not just ignite
"If you have will power and ideas definite" I tried to cool her down

Fear not for a while from simple man
Freedom may be right but can't force a ban
Never do or suffer from narrow thought
Danger may be lurking but always to be fought

I thought for a while but did not cave
Honor was at stake and was absolutely necessary to save
Things may be right but not put in right prospective
She was foolish teen but not subjective

it is always good to be friends on line
Some of the fears can allayed or sidelined
the prestige and status should be respected
One must realize and certainly introspected

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Intimacy

I hear people say, "I love my iPhone, "
Or, "I love drinking a Starbucks coffee."
Sometimes: "I love my Versace cologne, "
And also: "I love having this money."
I hear people say, "I love my Walmart, "
Or, "I love the drive-thru at Taco Bell."
"I love my TV. It's state of the art."
"I love the shoes that Nike has to sell."
I hear this: "I love American Idol, "
And, "I love a nice, cold Budweiser."
"I love medicines such as Demerol."
And, "I love my internet provider."
Yet, one thing I don't hear is, "I love you."
Saying that is too intimate to do.

poem by Tim Stensloff
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Goodbye Mine M.j.

A "Stranger in Moscow" told me that you've gone!
But is it true that you've gone my M.J.?
And with tears in my eyes I say goodbye my M.J.
You who feeds the eyes and the ears
And has graced our African soil
But why did you have to go, you "Smooth criminal"
When you know "They don't care about us"
Tell me, who will "Heal the world"?
Who will make it a better place for us?

Who will give to the poor once and again to their necessity?
Who will be there for them in their anguish and pain?
O', know you not that admired you are of those that hate you most
And did you have to go; or where you too lonely?
But you said "We're the world" that "You are not alone"
Then why did you have to go? And did you leave another "Thriller"
If no, then why choose to be "The man in the mirror"
Thus dirge and elegy now met in my heart. Why?

"Do you remember the time" we first met in my dream
And "The way you make me feel" with your "Childhood"?
Oh king of pop, my M.J., "I want you back"
And you "Got to be there" for me on my birthday
To sing me your song, "Don't stop till you get enough"
While "Rockin Robin and Ben" "Off the wall" till they "Scream"
For your love is magical because you're angelica
You are so wonderful because you're beautiful
You are indispensable because you're irreplaceable
And now I see the "Liberian girl" cry because you're "Speechless"
And upon our bodies the nighted color of mourning you. Why?
Alas death! Why taketh him away when all that look on him yet not satisfied?
O', let not the world lose another "Michael Jackson".
Michael I love you "Yesterday, today and forever."

May the spirit light your way
Through the land of the shadow
To the halls of eternal peace. Amen.

In the cabinet of my imagination, in the treasury of my reason, in the registry of my conscience, and in the council chamber of my thought, there shall you live forever.
I LOVE YOU MINE M.J.

poem by Lightcheerful Briggs
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Dream Fable

I saw myself in a wide green garden, more beautiful than I could begin to understand. In this garden was a young girl. I said to her, "How wonderful this place is!"

"Would you like to see a place even more wonderful than this?" she asked.

"Oh yes," I answered. Then taking me by the hand, she led me on until we came to a magnificent palace, like nothing that was ever seen by human eyes. The young girl knocked on the door, and someone opened it. Immediately both of us were flooded with light.

Only Allah knows the inner meaning of the maidens we saw living there. Each one carried in her hand a serving-tray filled with light. The young girl asked the maidens where they were going, and they answered her, "We are looking for someone who was drowned in the sea, and so became a martyr. She never slept at night, not one wink! We are going to rub funeral spices on her body."

"Then rub some on my friend here," the young girl said.

"Once upon a time," said the maidens, "part of this spice and the fragrance of it clung to her body -- but then she shied away."

Quickly the young girl let go of my hand, turned, and said to me:

"Your prayers are your light;
Your devotion is your strength;
Sleep is the enemy of both.
Your life is the only opportunity that life can give you.
If you ignore it, if you waste it,
You will only turn to dust."

Then the young girl disappeared.

poem by Rabia al Basri
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Our Hired Girl

1 Our hired girl, she's 'Lizabuth Ann;
2 An' she can cook best things to eat!
3 She ist puts dough in our pie-pan,
4 An' pours in somepin' 'at's good an' sweet;
5 An' nen she salts it all on top
6 With cinnamon; an' nen she'll stop
7 An' stoop an' slide it, ist as slow,
8 In th' old cook-stove, so's 'twon't slop
9 An' git all spilled; nen bakes it, so
10 It's custard-pie, first thing you know!
11 An' nen she'll say,
12 "Clear out o' my way!
13 They's time fer work, an' time fer play!
14 Take yer dough, an' run, child, run!
15 Er I cain't git no cookin' done!"

16 When our hired girl 'tends like she's mad,
17 An' says folks got to walk the chalk
18 When she's around, er wisht they had!
19 I play out on our porch an' talk
20 To Th' Raggedy Man 'at mows our lawn;
21 An' he says, "Whew!" an' nen leans on
22 His old crook-scythe, and blinks his eyes,
23 An' sniffs all 'round an' says, "I swawn!
24 Ef my old nose don't tell me lies,
25 It 'pears like I smell custard-pies!"
26 An' nen he'll say,
27 "Clear out o' my way!
28 They's time fer work, an' time fer play!
29 Take yer dough, an' run, child, run!
30 Er she cain't git no cookin' done!"

31 Wunst our hired girl, when she
32 Got the supper, an' we all et,
33 An' it wuz night, an' Ma an' me
34 An' Pa went wher' the "Social" met, --
35 An' nen when we come home, an' see
36 A light in the kitchen door, an' we
37 Heerd a maccordeun, Pa says, "Lan'-
38 O'-Gracious! who can her beau be?"
39 An' I marched in, an' 'Lizabuth Ann
40 Wuz parchin' corn fer The Raggedy Man!
41 Better say,
42 "Clear out o' the way!
43 They's time fer work, an' time fer play!
44 Take the hint, an' run, child, run!
45 Er we cain't git no courtin' done!"

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Blue Avenue

(orbison/melson)
Blue avenue
Where I spend my lonely days without you
Blue avenue
Why did you go and tell me we were through?
Youve stolen my heart and my love
And now you say were through
Im walkin down
Yeah, walkin down on blue avenue
Oh, blue avenue
Yeah Im feeling so bad
Blue avenue
I lost the very best woman that I ever had
Alone so alone
But I pray that someday Ill find you
Down at the end
Down at the end of blue avenue
Oh, blue avenue
Yay yay Im feeling so bad
Blue avenue
I lost the very best woman that I ever had
Alone so alone
But I pray
That someday Ill find you
Down at the end
Down at the end of blue avenue

song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What is—

215

What is—"Paradise"—
Who live there—
Are they "Farmers"—
Do they "hoe"—
Do they know that this is "Amherst"—
And that I—am coming—too—

Do they wear "new shoes"—in "Eden"—
Is it always pleasant—there—
Won't they scold us—when we're homesick—
Or tell God—how cross we are—

You are sure there's such a person
As "a Father"—in the sky—
So if I get lost—there—ever—
Or do what the Nurse calls "die"—
I shan't walk the "Jasper"—barefoot—
Ransomed folks—won't laugh at me—
Maybe—"Eden" a'n't so lonesome
As New England used to be!

poem by Emily Dickinson
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Cotton Avenue

A red sun came rolling down a grey sky
And the frogs and dogs and night birds then
Started up singing sweet country lullaby
You see that patch of city lights-
Somewhere in theres cotton avenue-
Thats where Im going to take myself tonight
With a spit shine on my dancing shoes
If you got a place like that to go
You just have to go there
If you got no place special
Well then, you just go no place special
I guess its just the summer in the young blood
Ripe and juicy in the young blood
Teasing to go down to ...
Cotton avenue
To hear the shiny shiny music
See all the shiny people dancing to it
Anytime you go to ...
Cotton avenue
If you got a place like that to go
You know you got to go there
If you got no place special
Well then, you just go no place special
You see that summer storm brewing in the southern sky
By the time it hits here Ill be dancing high and dry
To rhythm and blues
On cotton avenue
Poor boysll be hanging around outside in the street
They got all the latest words
Theyre dancing to the latest beat
While theyre hustling and sizing you
On cotton avenue
If you got a place like that to go
You just have to go there
If youve got no place special
Well my dear
You just so no place ... special