Along the streets of Paris
As twilight diminishes the day’s hope,
The street lights beep alarm,
The crowds throng the rushing pavements,
Cold winds chilling their strawberry cheeks,
The traffic horns pierce the strained ears,
Pedestrians brush past,
Their cigars smoking up desires,
The church bells cry reassurance,
As I run through the streets of Paris,
Alone,
Aching for the pillow,
Yet dreading,
A night of broken dreams.
Related quotes
In A Beep Beep Race
When I hear them in the traffic,
Go beep beep.
Horns going on,
With a beep beep.
And I wonder where all the people go..
To scurry with flurry so hurried...
They have to constantly beep beep beep!
When I walk it's in a leisurely pace.
I want to take in every bit of a scene.
And when I walk,
I don't frown my face.
Like those in a hurry in a beep beep race.
When I hear them in the traffic,
Go beep beep.
Horns going on,
With a beep beep.
And I wonder where all the people go..
To scurry with flurry so hurried...
They have to constantly beep beep beep!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Paris Rain
Cold, wet and windy day in Paris
A bench by a window in a warm coffee shop
Slight cold wind comes in through a crack in the window frame
Raindrops trail on the pane
Low hum of traffic and car horns liven the outside world
Whistles in the distance
Pedestrians in the light rain
Office workers, tourists, brave the weather
No where to go, no where to be, nothing to do
Except enjoy the warmth
And the view of the street
And Paris, on a cold wet winter day.
poem by J.D McNair
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Church Street, Pretoria
Right down the street the traffic lights are green
and a couple of homeless men stand around a fire
in a half drum and ambulances and police cars scream
while they past rows and rows of flats for hire
and a couple of kids stand smoking at the stream
and this is reality, the heart of the city.
On the sidewalk pedestrians walk in crowds of men,
women and some children, some booted up to the knee
others with mini skirts short enough to condemn them
and my city stays lovely to me.
People queue for fried chicken, fish
and chips at shops and cafés and the smells fill my nose
and tomatoes and onions, lamb and steak are fried with a hiss
and in the traffic an angry speed-cop tries to retain his pose
when a minibus taxi almost runs him over, gives him a fright
at a flickering traffic light
and cars stream by into the coming night.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Bells
And the actresses relate
To the actor who comes home late
After the plays have gone down
And the crowds have scattered around
Though the city lights and the streets
No ticket could be beat
For the beautiful show of shows
Ah, broadway only knows
The great white milky way
It had something to say
When he fell down on his knees
After soaring through the air
With nothing to hold him there
It was really not so cute
To play without a parachute
As he stood upon the ledge
Looking out, he thought he saw a brook
And he hollered, look, there are the bells
And he sang out, here come the bells
Here come the bells, here come the bells
Here come the bells
Here come the bells
Here come the bells
Here come the bells
Here come the bells
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Too Many Fiestas For Reuben
Hes 25, hanging out at the high school
Everyone but the butt-rockers knows that aint cool
Got a teen girlfriend and a little mustache
Hes got ol ac/dc coming out of his dash
Hes got himself a black trans am
Well they build em much smaller over there in japan
Beep, beep, beep on monday
Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep on tuesday
Too many fiestas for reuben
Yeah he got drunk and he went cruising
That boy is shot
Two gallons of tequila is what he got
...
Beep, beep, beep on wednesday
Beep, beep, beep on thursday
Beep, beep, beep on friday
Saturday and sunday are his days off
song performed by by Modest Mouse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Lillian Way
night
cold gray against greenish black
street lamp globes against
rectangle buildings
sitting in a parked car
along the deserted alleyways
off santa monica boulevard
car windows fogged
the cold green street lights
filtered through the prism
of a broken windshield
delicate spiderwebs of
white light diffusion
only in L.A.
a prostitute stands
against the bare wall
under a street light
with traffic going by
on the sidewalk
across the street
cocaine sellers asking
“what do you want? ”
“what do you need? ”
beside the building
a bottle and can collector
inspects a long low
excuse for a trash barrel
the prostitute
draws a lot of attention
cars pull to the curb
windows unwind
in the car adjacent
derelicts are fixing dope
shooting up in the
luminous twilight
now the whore has a trick
a car door slams
and tires spin away
much like a river
the wind has stirred up the palm leaves
and palmetto shadows
extra currents for a
3 a.m. late night traffic flow
much like my soft core
more than usually hard core
translucent shadows
on the concave street
vertical street signs
body schisms
poem by Theresa Haffner
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Homeland from Cardboard
In the end of street in 'cardboard
Sleeps Paris and Helen is cold
In his body has instead of sheet
Newspaper but the cold bites
In the end of street their horns dirty reasons
Strike electricity the eyes they break
In the end of street in night the door
In anymore lot you will sell me
Homeless be but Star in the news
In 'cardboard if it should I live
without sound I can speak
For anymore homeland you speak to me
After also caste you have sold him
After in Tria the light you have extinguished
For this homeland to me you will speak
In the end of street in night the door
The crowd thickens extinguishes without electricity
Their house a all cardboard
Strike the horns their soul be cold
Cop.2011 Sakis athanasiadis
poem by sakis athanasiadis Grecce
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English Roundabout
(colin moulding)
People rushing round with no time to spare.
Im so dizzy,
Im neither here nor there.
In this traffic jam,
I just want to shout,
Let me off o this english roundabout
English roundabout
And all the the horns go beep! beep!
All the people follow like sheep,
Im full of light and sound,
Making my head go round, round.
Everyone is cursing under their breath,
Im a passenger,
I feel close to death,
Hopeless situation,
I have no doubt.
Stop the madness, english roundabout
English roundabout
And all the cars go brum! brum!
And in my ears I feel a hum,
The neons blind my eyes,
All those tempers rise, rise.
Cars and buses go,
Puffing out their smoke,
Roll my window down,
I begin to choke.
I have had enough,
I just want to get out.
Let me off o this english roundabout.
English roundabout.
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bus ride at night
At quarter to five
the driver refuses,
that I get on a bus
in Burnett street
because it is already full.
There are men, woman and children
and we talk various languages
while we wait for the bus
and I see a car guard
dancing in the street
while he does tricks like a clown.
We wait on the next bus
and the afternoon passes
and the bus is very late
and it stays away
and just Putco and North Star busses
stop at other places.
At dusk the bus appears
and it’s got a double deck,
but is also full
and on the top level the roof is so low
that I bump my head
while it draws from the curb.
There’s no place to sit down
before we travel halfway to the city
and there’s a crowd of people around me
and we sit tight against each other
and in the front a child is holding onto a bar
while she licks the window with her tongue
and try to draw spit lines.
The bus braids through cars,
but it takes longer than an hour
to ride two stages
and a woman calls her husband
to pick her up at church square.
In Visagie Street the cars stand in a traffic jam
and it becomes night
while we wait in the traffic
and I embark from the bus
and twist through the pedestrians
and everywhere there are people
that stand in dark corners
and alleyways
and shout at each other in foreign languages.
At Church square I see stars in the sky,
but uncle Paul looks friendly
while the lights
of a few cars passes by
and I see how his men
are protecting him
and there’s nobody else in the street
and I wonder what to do
if the last bus has already left.
I wait at night at a bus stop
and an old black man
comes and stand near me
and we are both glad,
to catch a ride
on the last bus.
The bus is lighted brightly
And it’s comfortable and hot inside
and I see the zoo passing by
just before the bus stops for me
and red lights
disappears in the distance
and the evening wind tugs at my jacket,
but my house is near.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The House Of Dust: Part 02: 11: Snow falls. The sky is grey, and sullenly glares
Snow falls. The sky is grey, and sullenly glares
With purple lights in the canyoned street.
The fiery sign on the dark tower wreathes and flares . . .
The trodden grass in the park is covered with white,
The streets grow silent beneath our feet . . .
The city dreams, it forgets its past to-night.
And one, from his high bright window looking down
Over the enchanted whiteness of the town,
Seeing through whirls of white the vague grey towers,
Desires like this to forget what will not pass,
The littered papers, the dust, the tarnished grass,
Grey death, stale ugliness, and sodden hours.
Deep in his heart old bells are beaten again,
Slurred bells of grief and pain,
Dull echoes of hideous times and poisonous places.
He desires to drown in a cold white peace of snow.
He desires to forget a million faces . . .
In one room breathes a woman who dies of hunger.
The clock ticks slowly and stops. And no one winds it.
In one room fade grey violets in a vase.
Snow flakes faintly hiss and melt on the window.
In one room, minute by minute, the flutist plays
The lamplit page of music, the tireless scales.
His hands are trembling, his short breath fails.
In one room, silently, lover looks upon lover,
And thinks the air is fire.
The drunkard swears and touches the harlot's heartstrings
With the sudden hand of desire.
And one goes late in the streets, and thinks of murder;
And one lies staring, and thinks of death.
And one, who has suffered, clenches her hands despairing,
And holds her breath . . .
Who are all these, who flow in the veins of the city,
Coil and revolve and dream,
Vanish or gleam?
Some mount up to the brain and flower in fire.
Some are destroyed; some die; some slowly stream.
And the new are born who desire to destroy the old;
And fires are kindled and quenched; and dreams are broken,
And walls flung down . . .
And the slow night whirls in snow over towers of dreamers,
And whiteness hushes the town.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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When The Night Comes Down
Jimmy got lost, in a schoolboy phase
You see the lines got crossed, at a young and tender age
He dropped out of school, and the new crowd hed meet
He left his broken home, for a new life, out on the street
See the young boys laugh, gettin high on a midnight run
Theyve got it all figure out, they dont need no help
From anyone
Jimmy never knew real love in his heart
No feelings remain
Somehow he knew hed never be a part
So alone with his pain
When the night comes down
Out there on the streets, so many sad, sad stories
When the night comes down
Theyre runnin out of hope, in this land of glory
Theyre runnin in the night
See the young boy cry, hes cryin out, all alone
And the hurt inside, hes gotta face it all on his own
And the church bells ring, and the lord is praised
But they aint got time for jimmy, on their holy, holy days
Jimmy never felt real love in his heart
No feelings remain
Somehow he knew hed never be a part
So alone with his pain
When the night comes down
Out there on the streets, so many sad, sad stories
When the night comes down
Theyre runnin out of hope, in this land of glory
When the night comes down
Its a cold hearted town, nothin but a battleground
And theyre runnin out of hope, ooh, when the night
Comes down
On this battleground
So many, so many sad, sad stories
You can see it every night
When the night comes down
See the young boy cry
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Face of the City
The glow of a late Autumn Sunset,
Gleamed over the dense city streets.
Rushing wheels and honking horns,
Halted awhile for the traffic signs.
Through the rows of rushing motors,
Men on bikes ploughed their way.
They squished and squeezed through every gap,
Caring a naught for the traffic rules.
With jarring siren, the Ambulance jeep,
Speeded past for Emergency aid.
The patient inside, in writhing pain,
Lay stressed on every hurdle raced.
Ladies holding children in hands,
And people bent with growing age,
Remained planted at the zebra cross,
Waiting to move to the opposite side.
As the tired people back from work,
Hurried away to reach their homes,
The jovial band in easeful mood,
Treaded towards the city parks.
Fortune tellers with their Tarot cards,
Held their clients in great suspense,
The street hawkers on tiled pavements,
Squatted beside their cheap merchandise.
Scores of men who treaded on foot,
Grew to Hundreds in a short awhile,
These were folks right from the show,
The Block buster had drawn hoards of men.
When young Dandies in tawdry dress,
Dallied round with their ladies love,
Street urchins in tattered clothes,
Went searching in the garbage pile.
While decrepit old beggars lay drowsy,
On the cement benches in wayside shelters,
The affluent Sahibs in plush restaurants,
Feasted on their cocktail dinners.
The city thus with its motley crowd,
Paints life in contrast shades,
For Fortune, with her alluring charms,
Favours a few and leaves the rest.
poem by Valsa George
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Simple Days of Innocence
They talked about the ice cream man
And they waited just for him
And from their homes fast they ran
For the tinkling bells that called to them
Together they laughed on autumn nights
As hand-in-hand they walked
Down city streets past flickering lights
And of old memories they fondly talked
The sound of bells no longer rise.
Yet they smiled on moonless nights
As lightening bugs flew past their eyes
To dance ballets of mystic lights
“Ghosts” they said, “of old lamplighters
Who’ve come to light our way.”
But innocence lost with childhood dreams
Of loving warmth and songs
Fly away on night’s moonbeams,
And are gone, forever gone..
Oh, the simple days of innocence.
Gone, forever gone.
poem by Thomas Noel Smith
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Busy Town
Suburban streets filled with baseball hats
People living in suburban flats
Cobweb shops filled with queues
People rushing round wearing out shoes
They are all rushing by
No one sees me cry
Car in jams at intersections
On corners people taking collections
Suburban garages filled with little cars
And people smoking big cigars
Archways hanging over loos
While cars pass in lines of twos
People pass with blind eyes
Telling stories in their sighs
Parking meters in military lines
Traffic wardens handing out fines
Suburban underground thoroughfares
Factories smoking skyward airs
Crowded corporation buses
Corner fish ‘n’ chips shops selling husses
Dozens of stuff collared shirts
Caught up in office works
Poor Porter on the trains
Trying to help passengers who complain
The busy town ignores
All who live in there
It turns its back
On old and young
And keeps its song
Hidden away and unsung
(date written unknown)
poem by David Harris
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The Poetry At Night Time And Beethoven's Piano Music
this is like playing the piano pieces
at night when everyone in the neighborhood is already sleeping,
they wonder if there is a ghost in this house
someone that cannot accept death someone that claims
an unfinished business
still roaming in limbo and plays the piano at night
they are all disturbed and will close their windows earlier
turn off the lights and retreat inside their thick blankets
the piano is heard and it is playing some pieces of Beethoven
the story of his death...
it is not the same with your poetry
all night long, you write, and there is no stopping and the neighbors think
that everything is all right
that the lights are on because there is a baby in the house
it is you that sob silently inside the limbo of your dreams
that refuse to die
roaming the streets at night
breathing the cold in the darkness
the following morning, nothing is changed
the neighbors as usual do their normal activities
the street is heavy with traffic
people are busy chasing the hours
and there is no stopping anymore.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Restful Sleep
I was sneaking off to sleep
and was waiting for my alarm to beep
and then I did weep,
with only three hours to sleep...
I could hear only
beep, beep, beep
From my bed I did ooze
and very quickly did press snooze,
crawled between my sheets,
fell into a restful sleep
until I heard a loud
beep, beep, beep
and once again, I did ooze
and once again, I did press snooze
but could not sleep
for all I could hear
was the tock, tock, tock
of the clock, clock, clock
I hit the sheets,
rose to my feet.
'You will not tock!
You stupid clock! '
and in the heat, it did
Beep! Beep! Beeeeeeeeeeeeeee.....
And with my all
I kicked the clock against the wall!
after which,
in my sheets I did creep,
and did nothing but
sleep, sleep, sleep
poem by Joseph Wordsmith
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Taking in and blowing out smoke? And now you see girls smoking cigars. It got to be such a fad. Girls on the covers of magazines, smoking cigars. Give me a break. I didn't want to be a part of that. I don't like ""popular.""
quote by James Coburn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Twilight on Sixth Avenue at Ninth Street
Over the tops of the houses
Twilight and sunset meet.
The green, diaphanous dusk
Sinks to the eager street.
Astray in the tangle of roofs
Wanders a wind of June.
The dial shines in the clock-tower
Like the face of a strange-scrawled moon.
The narrowing lines of the houses
Palely begin to gleam,
And the hurrying crowds fade softly
Like an army in a dream.
Above the vanishing faces
A phantom train flares on
With a voice that shakes the shadows, --
Diminishes, and is gone.
And I walk with the journeying throng
In such a solitude
As where a lonely ocean
Washes a lonely wood.
poem by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
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Beep Beep Beep
Beep Beep Beep...
These were the sounds
Upon waking...
Tubes everywhere
My God she was intubated!
What had happened?
She couldn't talk
She tried to get
Someone's attention
With her hands
No use
She tried screaming...
Get me out of here
I'm back! ! !
No sound came yet
But her mind
Was ticking over
Beep Beep Beep
poem by Harriet James
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Broken Dreams
Theres an ocean in my mind
Id give the world if I could find
A sailing ship and leave the past behind
Now that I must say adieu
Its killing me, Im telling you
When freedom calls what can a person do
I have felt the winds of change
Go stealing through my heart and soul
How wild it seems
In love songs and in nursery rhymes
On movie screens, in fairy tales
Lie broken dreams
Lifes broken dreams
Loves broken dreams
Sometimes a broken dream
Will make you sad or make you mean
Sometimes things aint as bad as they might seem
You might walk a lonely street
Until one day you chance to meet
A stranger who might ask where have you been
You will see the light of change
Come shining through your windowpane
When hope is gone
Though money, fame, and riches are
For fools and kings or anything
That turns them on
Lifes broken deals
Lifes spinning wheels
Theres an ocean I have found
Id like to sail the world around
And dream about the life I hope Ill find
Now that I must say adieu
To loves returns, Im telling you
When freedom comes what can a person do
I have felt the winds of change
Go stealing through my heart and soul
How wild they seem
In sounds of spring, in winter storms
In autumn gales, on summer morns
Lie broken dreams
In love songs and in nursery rhymes
On movie screens, in fairy tales
Like broken dreams
Lifes broken dreams
Loves broken dreams
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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