As I Step Over A Puddle At The End Of Winter, I Think Of An Ancient Chinese Governor
And how can I, born in evil days
And fresh from failure, ask a kindness of Fate?
-- Written A.D. 819
Po Chu-i, balding old politician,
What's the use?
I think of you,
Uneasily entering the gorges of the Yang-Tze,
When you were being towed up the rapids
Toward some political job or other
In the city of Chungshou.
You made it, I guess,
By dark.
But it is 1960, it is almost spring again,
And the tall rocks of Minneapolis
Build me my own black twilight
Of bamboo ropes and waters.
Where is Yuan Chen, the friend you loved?
Where is the sea, that once solved the whole loneliness
Of the Midwest?Where is Minneapolis? I can see nothing
But the great terrible oak tree darkening with winter.
Did you find the city of isolated men beyond mountains?
Or have you been holding the end of a frayed rope
For a thousand years?
poem by James Arlington Wright
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Related quotes
Rock'n'roll Is Alive (And It Lives In Minneapolis) (Tony Fly Mix)
And It Lives In Minneapolis)
(Rock 'n' roll is alive!)
Rock 'n' roll is alive (Rock 'n' roll is alive!)
(Rock 'n' roll is alive and it lives in Minneapolis!) {x2}
From all over the world the people came
Even the President flies in 2 worship a thing called fame
Red, white, and blue boy / girls - 2night everyone's the same
Some people say it's dyin', but we don't wanna play that game
Rock 'n' roll is alive and it lives in Minneapolis! (Sing!)
Rock 'n' roll is alive (and it lives in Minneapolis!)
Rock 'n' roll is alive and it lives in Minneapolis! (Sing!)
Rock 'n' roll is alive (and it lives in Minneapolis!)
Sure as the drive around Lake of the Isles is cool I know (Oh)
Rock 'n' roll will never die like the Minnehaha flow (Oh)
Sure as the land of a thousand lakes is sometimes made of snow
There'll always be another king 2 die butt-naked on the floor (Oh)
Rock 'n' roll is alive and it lives in Minneapolis! (Sing!)
Rock 'n' roll is alive (and it lives in Minneapolis!) (Oh)
Rock! Rock!
(Very impressive)
Rock! Rock!
(Sing!)
(Rock 'n' roll is alive and it lives in Minneapolis!) (Sing damn it!)
Rock! Rock!
Rock 'n' roll is alive! (Yeah!)
(Rock 'n' roll is alive and it lives in Minneapolis!) {x4}
(Rock 'n' roll is alive and it lives in Minneapolis!) {x4
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Holding On
Holding On
Written by: Wilfred Charles Mellers, Sunday, October 14,2012
A friend once told me it was going to be difficult, yet I held on
Years have past and yet I am still holding on
The rope that holds us together has become frayed, yet I still hold on
Time passes by and the rope that binds us has become a string, yet I still hold on
Worn now down to its last strand, yet I still hold on
If the rope should snap and I plummet to my demise, I will still be clutching on
I will go kicking and screaming knowing that through all the difficulties I never let go
I relentlessly kept holding on
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Summer Of 95
Suntanned face with chiseled nose,
lanky body with skin aglow.
little did I know,
we'ld become fast friends on the go.
Yes, dancing, drinking till 2 am.
we became the best of friends.
That was the summer of 95,
we both turned 29.
On your birthday you rented a limousine,
cruising down downtown Minneapolis making a scene.
This was the summer I worked at the casino
and I made alot of doe.
Now I digress and do confess,
This was a fun summer I do like best,
You even said I’m not like the rest…
that I’m not like I’m from the Midwest.
Maybe I’m more like a Jersey girl,
just need some more curls.
Anyways, thank you my Brazilian friend
for the memories/your secrets are safe with me.
Written on Feb.7,2011 by Christina Sunrise
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Sabrina The Gypsy Lady
Dark eyes with black wavy long hair,
speaking German with a flair.
Sabrina always made me laugh,
When she said letter 'w'
When she gave her red lips a smack.
She had an accent through and through.
she was born in Germany and was a Gogo dancer too.
Went to Jimmy Hendrix party with her,
everyone in dressed like hippies without a care.
Christmas parties at Minneapolis studio,
had different art installations that did glow.
Sabrina Gypsy Lady drives a Saab,
it's engine always ran on and on.
Ran on and on in her backyard,
she lived in south Minneapolis,
with her 3 daughters and a dog.
Sabrina danced the belly dance,
hands in air, not by chance.
Now I sprained my ankle outside her door,
she put needles in me while I was on the floor.
I could walk just like that,
acupuncture really works,
I bounced back like a cat.
In Sabrina's acupuncture office,
I was treated to some leaves,
they where herbs that really help your nerves.
Now Sabrina is one of a kind,
Fun memories with Sabrina are saved in time.
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sabrina The Gypsy Lady
Dark eyes with black wavy long hair,
speaking German with a flair.
Sabrina always made me laugh,
When she said letter “w”
When she gave her red lips a smack.
She had an accent through and through.
she was born in Germany and was a Gogo dancer too.
Went to Jimmy Hendrix party with her,
everyone in dressed like hippies without a care.
Christmas parties at Minneapolis studio,
had different art installations that did glow.
Sabrina Gypsy Lady drives a Saab,
it’s engine always ran on and on.
Ran on and on in her backyard,
she lived in south Minneapolis,
with her 3 daughters and a dog.
Sabrina danced the belly dance,
hands in air, not by chance.
Now I sprained my ankle outside her door,
she put needles in me while I was on the floor.
I could walk just like that,
acupuncture really works,
I bounced back like a cat.
In Sabrina’s acupuncture office,
I was treated to some leaves,
they where herbs that really help your nerves.
Now Sabrina is one of a kind,
Fun memories with Sabrina are saved in time.
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mumbai
They call it a city that never sleeps,
Dreams at large; everything in heaps
Buzzing all the time, different people different cons,
It got its roses and it got its thorns.
City of murmuring traffic and twinkling cars
The multi-millionaires, the movie stars.
We’ve got it all;
The vada-pav and the dance bars,
Crowded local trains, almost on time,
Spirit of its passengers always sublime
City where honesty is rewarded,
But bravery is crime.
Success and failure are in twilight,
City where changes happen overnight
You might be swept if caught off sight,
Got lucky, then you be on a flight
Multi-lingual, multi-religious,
City of unusual weather,
I wouldn’t be wrong; if I say,
It’s a city where country comes together,
Every city has its ups and downs and she is no different.
She gives me an identity and makes me proud.
City where I was born and city where I want to die,
My city! My Mumbai
poem by Fahim Sayed
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It’s called the inner city
On death row I ask what happen to me
This is not the way it was suppose be
So I drag my mind trying to recall
The life I had beyond these prison walls
I see
Thin walls no privacy
Big yard, living in close proximity
It’s called the inner city
It’s called the inner city
A city no one build for me
It’s called the inner city
Yes it has shaped my destiny
On death row I ask what happen to me
This is not the way it was suppose be
So I drag my mind trying to recall
The life I had beyond these prison walls
I see
Adults sit around
Getting shot and maim
Children run around
Oblivious
Playing their games
In the filth that flows untamed
It’s called the inner city
It’s called the inner city
A city no one build for me
It’s called the inner city
Yes, it has shaped my destiny
On death row I ask what happen to me
This is not the way it was suppose be
So I drag my mind trying to recall
The life I had beyond these prison walls
I see
How hard I try not to run with the pack
But against me the cards were stack
They need protection they need someone
But you can’t protect them with empty hand
In the inner city
It’s called the inner city
Poverty, amidst luxury
A city no one build for me
It’s called the inner city
Yes, it has shaped my destiny
Political connections, fearless and strong
Dispensing justice with an even hand
Truth be told, I am a ladies’ man
So naturally they call me the “Don”
In the inner city
It’s called the inner city
It’s called the inner city
A city, no one build for me
It’s called the inner city
Yes, it has shaped my destiny
Now on death row
Soon, I’ll go
I am guilty?
No one will know
The script is written and sing like a song
They used, refused and then they kill the “Don”
In the inner city
Hah, ha, ha, a, a, a
Hah, ha, ha, a, a, a
poem by Ikhalfani Solan
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I've spoken of the shining city all my political life, but I don't know if I ever quite communicated what I saw when I said it. But in my mind it was a tall proud city built on rocks stronger than oceans, wind-swept, God-blessed, and teeming with people of all kinds living in harmony and peace, a city with free ports that hummed with commerce and creativity, and if there had to be city walls, the walls had doors and the doors were open to anyone with the will and the heart to get here. That's how I saw it and see it still.
quote by Ronald Reagan
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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South High
South High a new place for me
So many things to do
So many things to see
New friends every where i go but there is the one that right by you
No matter what you do and no matter what you say
You never have to deal with one of them truning away
No such thngs as cliques here
Everyone is friends
I feel like i can relate to the people at South High
We just know how to live or lives in the best city of all
The city where my school is
In greater minneapolis
To understand what we are going through is to live in the city by your own
And never complain
poem by by unknown author
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Illness and Idleness
Illness and idleness give me much leisure.
What do I do with my leisure, when it comes?
I cannot bring myself to discard inkstone and brush;
Now and then I make a new poem.
When the poem is made, it is slight and flavourless,
A thing of derision to almost every one.
Superior people will be pained by the flatness of the metre;
Common people will hate the plainness of the words.
I sing it to myself, then stop and think about it ...
The Prefects of Soochow and Peng-tse
Would perhaps have praised it, but they died long ago.
Who else would care to hear it?
No one today except Yuan Chen,
And he is banished to the City of Chiang-ling,
For three years an usher in the Penal Court.
Parted from me by three thousand leagues
He will never know even that the poem was made.
The Last Duty
ı t is two days or three
since with soil we covered thee
we gathered here
in your mother city
from all over the country
may be the unı verse
to perform our last duty
in fact you are doı ng your last duty
perfectly
you gathered friiends together
after so many years
a peculı ar thing too
just notified me
they have cut the lonely poplar
that shoot
from the root
which were a friend to me
my friend in winter
in my loneliness..lonelihood
in my all days on foot
but the plum tree
side by side
very very oldy
has blossomed already
adorned with green leaves
with white flowers as bridals
what a peculı ar thing too
lı fe goes on as always
after the death's gloom
like these
even of my relatives
and dear friends
this year
spring has come a little bit earlier
it is may be
two days or three
we gave to the soı l thee
life for me
a turmoı l though
how many beloved
ı have entombed
..buried
ı do not know
ı cannot remember
waiting his turn
someday someone may be me
will be buried too
you lie in a mosque yard
in the coffin covered with our flag
crimson and white
wi th in the middle a crescent
on a white marble stand-bier
your son
your grown up son tall watching
your wife and daughter in black weeds
weeping
first the noon prayer
and then
the funeral prayer in the graveyard
imam asked for the acquı ttal of claim
we have no claim on you
farewell my friend
that is life they say
what we can say too
the last order from above has come
we are accustomed to these day by day
iti is two days or three
20th march 2010
a new life is beginning for me
without you
fires burn in me
may be the new spring
the river sakar will flow without you
the bungalow
near the sinop black sea will miss you
it is two days or there
since we buried you in soil
life is toll moil and pell mell
and turmoil
so long
farewell
my friend
we will miss you
how can we bear this turmoil
without you
never knowing
we are still waiting for you
each day
as the next day you will rise be coming
good my friend..so long
poem by Metin Sahin
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Santa FE
The sky is bluest
in the clean, thin mountain air
of Santa Fe.
Seven days in the city
of Holy Faith,
but my faith is anything but holy.
It's 3: 30 a.m.
The cottonwood's roots are buried deep
underneath the adobe house.
Its arms scrape the skylight.
Raindrops tap against the window.
She sighs and says,
'I always loved you.'
I roll out of bed
and, in the dark, reach for my clothes.
By 4: 30 a.m. I'm on the road to Albuquerque.
My thoughts are on the hot air balloon
that, for awhile,
will suspend me above earth,
above the candle burning on the horizon,
above the rattle and hiss of the world.
The clouds are icebergs
floating in an azure sea
carried past Sandia peak.
'How's the weather in Chicago, '
the pilot asks.
'Heat wave is blasting the city, ' I reply.
'My brother says the sky is hazy, dirty.'
'Do you like the Midwest, ' he continues.
I shrug, ' I love the city.'
The roar of the flame drowns my voice,
and the hot air balloon rises.
My thoughts are of the adobe house
at the foot of Cristo De Sangre mountains
and the soft warm body waiting for me.
'I drove by Chicago back in '94, ' the pilot says,
'So, how do you like living in the Midwest? '
The balloon brushes a tree top,
the Tampa Bay newlyweds squeal.
I shrug, 'It's okay.'
No one listens.
Coyote sings to the vanishing moon
then streaks across open space.
The young lovers scream with excitement.
'So, how do you like Chicago, '
the pilot asks.
I mumble, 'I loved a woman there once.'
But no one cares,
as the hot air balloon descends
and the land of enchantment unfolds
before an ascending sun.
poem by Esteban Arellano
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City Of Ships
CITY of ships!
(O the black ships! O the fierce ships!
O the beautiful, sharp-bow'd steam-ships and sail-ships!)
City of the world! (for all races are here;
All the lands of the earth make contributions here;)
City of the sea! city of hurried and glittering tides!
City whose gleeful tides continually rush or recede, whirling in and
out, with eddies and foam!
City of wharves and stores! city of tall façades of marble and iron!
Proud and passionate city! mettlesome, mad, extravagant city!
Spring up, O city! not for peace alone, but be indeed yourself,
warlike! 10
Fear not! submit to no models but your own, O city!
Behold me! incarnate me, as I have incarnated you!
I have rejected nothing you offer'd me--whom you adopted, I have
adopted;
Good or bad, I never question you--I love all--I do not condemn
anything;
I chant and celebrate all that is yours--yet peace no more;
In peace I chanted peace, but now the drum of war is mine;
War, red war, is my song through your streets, O city!
poem by Walt Whitman
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I Live In A City As Great
I LIVE IN A CITY/ AS GREAT
I live in a city
As great as holy as conflicted
As history itself
Many years have I lived here
And little have I written about it-
Much greater than me
Have written here Holy Books for mankind here-
Generations of Jews
Prayed to live here-
I have been blessed
The city will always be too great for me
But I hope to live here to the end of my life.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Great Mid-West
Written by John Mellencamp
Everything is slower here, everybody's got a union card
They get up on Sunday and go to church of their choice
Come back home cook out in the backyard
Chorus:
And they call this the Great Midwest
Where the cornfields row and flow
They're all 5 years ahead of their time
Or 25 behind, I just don't know
All the young men talk about their 4 wheel drives
And how much money they're gonna make on Friday night
And, they like to brag about how they mistreat their girlfriends
Hey, let's get drunk, party it up, start a fight
Chorus II:
And they call this the Great Midwest
Sure make a hell of a car
And the old hearts, they race their way through the night
The upheaval of who they really are
Growin' up under normal conditions, television and radio
That's just about all of this whole world
That any of us get to see, get to know
Chorus III:
And they call this the Great Midwest
Where you sacrifice your body and soul
And no one really wants to get even
Most of us find it hard enough just lettin' go
Bridge:
Don't get me wrong I ain't complaining
I ain't braggin' nor do I mean to place blame
That's just the way things are around here
And there's a future carryin' my name on it
Sayin' hey man, you gonna stick around here you better get on it
If you're gonna stick around here you better make yourself some real good friends
Well I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth
So I can't talk about the big city life
But if you wanna talk about bein' bored and runnin'
away from yourself, hell I talk to you all night
Chorus IV:
And they call this the Great M
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tale of Three Cities
New York blasted London blasted
Singapore -
Ripped off each other's metaphoric balls,
Crumbling walls.
Priapic city monoliths -
Blue-sky scraping bastards -
Shout about their height (but really length) .
V8 arseholes didn't care -
Pumping shit into the air,
So long as they were always there to
Fart aloud a smoggy cloud,
Laughing at the weak asthmatic,
Humoured that it seems traumatic.
Watch the greedy cities oozing
Chair-bound fat committees, though they
Look a bunch of titties as they
Waffle on about the pound.
Ever thought to look around and see
That they were dead?
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Holy City
Holy City
We arrived here yesterday
Holy city
We sat foot here yesterday
Holy city
We felt in love with you already
Holy city
Is the city where our God was born
Holy city
Here we saw where God died in the cross with Pontius pilate
And risen from his death
Holy City
Today we end up in the Sea of Galilee
It is so good to breathe the fresh air from the Sea of Galilee
This sea is amazing
Holy city
This is a journey we will never forget in our lives
Holy city
Has been an interesting point in our lives
Holy city
Was a discovery of our roots
poem by Aldo Kraas
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The Minneapolis Poem
to John Logan
1
I wonder how many old men last winter
Hungry and frightened by namelessness prowled
The Mississippi shore
Lashed blind by the wind, dreaming
Of suicide in the river.
The police remove their cadavers by daybreak
And turn them in somewhere.
Where?
How does the city keep lists of its fathers
Who have no names?
By Nicollet Island I gaze down at the dark water
So beautifully slow.
And I wish my brothers good luck
And a warm grave.
2
The Chippewa young men
Stab one another shrieking
Jesus Christ.
Split-lipped homosexuals limp in terror of assault.
High school backfields search under benches
Near the Post Office. Their faces are the rich
Raw bacon without eyes.
The Walker Art Center crowd stare
At the Guthrie Theater.
3
Tall Negro girls from Chicago
Listen to light songs.
They know when the supposed patron
Is a plainclothesman.
A cop’s palm
Is a roach dangling down the scorched fangs
Of a light bulb.
The soul of a cop’s eyes
Is an eternity of Sunday daybreak in the suburbs
Of Juárez, Mexico.
4
The legless beggars are gone, carried away
By white birds.
The Artificial Limbs Exchange is gutted
And sown with lime.
The whalebone crutches and hand-me-down trusses
Huddle together dreaming in a desolation
Of dry groins.
I think of poor men astonished to waken
Exposed in broad daylight by the blade
Of a strange plough.
5
All over the walls of comb cells
Automobiles perfumed and blindered
Consent with a mutter of high good humor
To take their two naps a day.
Without sound windows glide back
Into dusk.
The sockets of a thousand blind bee graves tier upon tier
Tower not quite toppling.
There are men in this city who labor dawn after dawn
To sell me my death.
6
But I could not bear
To allow my poor brother my body to die
In Minneapolis.
The old man Walt Whitman our countryman
Is now in America our country
Dead.
But he was not buried in Minneapolis
At least.
And no more may I be Please God.
7
I want to be lifted up
By some great white bird unknown to the police,
And soar for a thousand miles and be carefully hidden
Modest and golden as one last corn grain,
Stored with the secrets of the wheat and the mysterious lives
Of the unnamed poor.
poem by James Arlington Wright
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The Builders Of The City
You never will find their names on a memorial wall
And any memories of them historians never do recall
The builders of the City who lay with the unsung
Many of them came from distant shores and spoke in a foreign tongue
They more than earned every penny that they were ever paid
The builders of the City yet little of their achievements made
Devoted to the family and devoted to the wife
They worked hard so their children could enjoy a better life,
The builders of the City so much to them we owe
Though nothing written about them and of them little we do know
They built the housing estates, City buildings and City Mall
Though nothing of their life achievements is ever made at all
They lay the rail tracks to the City and made the Roadways through the Countryside
Yet in the builders of the City we never do take pride.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Cities
(david byrne)think of london - small city
Dark - dark in the daytime
People sleep - sleep in the daytime
If they want to - if they want to
Im checkin em out
Im checkin em out
Ive got it figured out
Ive got it figured out
Theres some good points - some bad points
But it all works out - Im just a little freaked out
Find your city -
Find yourself a city to live in
I will find a city -
Find yourself a city to live in
A lot of bridges in birmingham
A lot of ghosts - and a lot of houses
Look over there - dry ice factory
Good place to get some thinking done
Im checkin em out
Im checkin em out
Ive got it figured out
Im the one who got it figured out
Theres some good points - some bad points
Find your city -
Find yourself a city to live in
I will find a city -
Find yourself a city to live in
Did I forget to mention -
Forget to mention memphish
Home of elvis and the ancient greeks
Do I smell - I smell home cooking
Its only the river - its only the river
Im checkin em out
Im checkin em out
Ive got it figured out
Ive got it figured out
Theres some good points - some bad points
Are those things real? denied!
Find your city -
Find yourself a city to live in
I will find a city -
Find yourself a city to live in
I will find a city -
Find yourself a city to live in
I will find a city
Find yourself a city to live in
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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