Who Knew Poetry

I'm Amanda. I'm a "struggling actor" based in New York. I like to pretend I am a secret poet. Maybe I am, maybe not. Either way, it's fun.
Wed May 21

Accordians are smushing.

Is that what they do?

New Yorkers are sipping

as grey falls from blue.

The great minds are typing

With knuckle-haired hands,

And laptops a buzzing

Make maniacal plans.

Stilettos are clicking

On construction concrete.

Caffine hearts racing

Like late corporate feet.

The sailor song’s slowing,

A mind lulling knot.

The intellect’s pndering

His book’s novel plot.

And all the while wondering

What shrill notes would ring,

If these coffee consumers

Would stand up and sing.

In harmony not,

But strange tonal cries,

To free all our sickness,

Expelling the lies

That live in the beards of metropolis men

Creating white noise and beginning again

Breathe, breathe, breathe. We can leave.

Sending us back to the biblical times

We’d wear calous fingers

And create simpler rhymes

To no longer hunt lattes

But prime primal beasts

No more sipping solo

We’d share in our feasts

If only this center of cultural cats

Would tear town the light-bulbs

Abandon their flats

And crowding the streets of God’s concrete land

They’d stomp colored feet

And clap fragile hands

All the while wandering

What shrill notes would ring

If Manhattan madhatters

Would stand up and sing.

In harmony not,

But strange tonal cries,

To free all our insides,

expel all our lies

That live in the eyes of metrololis men

Creating white noise

And beginning again

Breathe, breathe, breathe. We can leave.

The rush-hour railcars

Could fly off the tracks,

And neck-tied young lemmings

feel sun ontheir backs.

The stodgy-eyed, stocking clad,

hard Wall Street dames

Would toss name-brand handbags

On into the flames,

As the rail-car all anxious

a-climbed to the sun,

The poor pinstriped passengers would cry,

“Oh what fun!”

For even if we do burn away in the sky,

At least I can say I have lived ‘fore I died.

If only these old sold souls

Would stand up and sing

My ears fill with joy

At the thought of this ring

In harmony not,

Bt strange tonal cries,

freeing our demons,

expelling our lies,

That live in the bones of these beautiful men,

Creating white noise and beginning again.

Breathe, breathe, breathe. Come with me.

Breathe, breathe, breathe. We can leave.