POEM 10 (Using the top three today--more good ones below)
*Seeing the same strangers everyday (Marisol)
I can’t put my finger on it--
The world is so two-faced, it doesn’t feel real
Around me all is noiseless but staticky,
a TV with no signal. I drown the noise in my mind.
My life feels like a simulation.
I walk these streets every day but nothing much changes.
People get dragged on their backs
While the sun rises and sets
So there are barely any shadows.
I have worries in my life but they are hidden.
You might not be able to tell.
I keep bouncing the ball with my racket
While others are just trying to make it home.
It’s like a prison, nowhere to go,
Trapped in a daytime nightmare.
It’s all black and white.
Simple but not simple.
A spark is missing. I don’t know what to live for.
*THESE HOLY STRANGERS (Haley)
I pushed myself ahead trying to forget how
time dragged as I stumbled over the cobblestone.
On and on I moved past the others
where there were barely any shadows,
nothing to shroud myself in.
It’s not like anyone would notice me anyway.
They were all too busy surviving their lives--
jumping curbs,
resisting temptation,
delivering themselves from evil...
A looming presence gazed down upon me,
this sinner in a square full of saints.
An oddball sinking beneath the surface,
begging for their own deliverance,
I felt a presence in a space I was moving toward.
Incessant hell looms ahead of me,
my child-like disregard for the damned,
an ant worshipping its crumbs,
where the land of forgotten souls awaits me.
*It's Strange How You Can Sometimes Find Yourself in No Place at All (Spud)
The feeling of being embraced.
The way it was to hold and be held,
I felt as if I stood in a space called waiting--
a place vacant of time.
Where there are barely any shadows.
But where I couldn’t see the light either,
Didn’t know where it came from or where it went.
So I didn’t know how to hold it right--
How to tell it I loved it.
How to mean what I said ...
I realized then I was changing in order to wait--
Not waiting in order to change.
My shape dragged on, twisting perversely.
Then fell back into place.
But now the lights are all coming on.
Untitled (Luis)
Strangers Who Wore My Mother's Face
I walk the crowded streets of New York City
My mother seems to be lost amidst the crowd
But still I look for her
I hear doors chime with strangers walk out
People with similar faces clouding my judgement.
I'm blind as a mole underground
My vision a blur when I think I see my mother
But it’s just a stranger.
I continue walking through busy streets
Construction workers carrying long pipes from site to site
And I almost get hit in the head with one.
As I get closer to a corner store,
A woman starts walking in my direction
I'm sure its my mother, she has her figure and facial structure
I yell “MOM” and other mothers in the area stop and stare
The woman I'm so sure is my mother walks right past me
So coldly without any idea that she brought me a bit of warmth
It’s bright out but I have tunnel vision here where barely any shadows
And then it hit me like a train,
My mother is already gone.
*
Autumn's poem was received but file was corrupt. Try to cut and paste it into email.
*
Strangers In Dreams (Olivia)
head still tilted horizontally,
Bending like everyone else's.
I noticed that there were
sending chills that night
feeling like lightning had struck,
I heard a chime from the corner
darkness walking around as leaves
started to rustle, scattering
debris like a category five disaster.
As I wander through pitch black,
entranced by their movements
I began to realize the ghastly
appearances they held. Even
the spirits can get you to stay,
no matter how much you deny.
Strange Eyes (Cesar)
I just wanted to go to the town's pub.
Had I known it would be so busy
I would’ve just stayed home.
The pedestrians are all so strange,
Like flies, with compound eyes, staring into space.
Not even a swift glance from any of them
As you walk by them. They seemed to have been dancing
Recently. But now they were like ants scurrying beneath
My feet. A chef is moving like a soldier,
The sun glaring into his eyes.
Why does he have no shadow?
To think I'd like to know these people
Who are watching me through blank eyes.
The lumbar should definitely have a dark shadowy spot over his shoulder.
Am I inside the Truman Show?
That would be ridiculous.
They even share the same face.
They’re wearing my face.
Ritual of the Strange Hour (Maggie D.)
The clock strikes 12, where there are barely any shadows
as we nameless strangers swing out of shops
pocking the smooth gray road. The saloon doors left swinging
as the drunken couple dances backwards, eyelids drooping
as they step along to their tone-deaf chime,
each slumping frolic nearly tripping
over the adult-faced child battering
playfully at the ankles of a child-faced adult,
but they both seemed rather unperturbed
for the swap of their features, I mused.
I, with my starched white clothing, like a glowing many-winged seraphim,
the indisputable centerpiece of this mantle.
Wooden plank carried with an artful form
as to cover my face, there’s nothing more seductive
than a mystery, a knowledge there’s something yet to be uncovered,
even better: something unattainable, for no amount
of peeping could ever peer behind my dimensions.
We swing around once more, jovial in our jubilee,
ticking along our paths before tucking ourselves
neatly away again, ready once more for stasis,
until we may again dance: that next strike of the clock.
Walking among strangers (Charles)
I walked the cobbled streets filled
With many people--young, old, short, tall.
Like the many different types of wood
In the street I noticed that there were barely any shadows
Cast by the building, but like wraiths
only shadows of people are cast
I noticed a child playing, short and stout
They were hitting a ball the color of an apple
There was a boy walking towards me
He was tall, sharp in posture
Dressed in corduroy akin to tanned leather
There was a young man standing at a corner
A corner the color of fresh baked wheat bread
There was a man swift with action
A board of arboreal nature
Yellow like the hue of the Saharan sand
Walking away I saw a woman
Covered in a shroud of a dark veil
All these people looked solemn but off
Those young men all look affixantly at me
As if the only oddity was not the lack of shadows
But the presence of me
A Strangers Life (Ava)
I am hidden away behind the lock,
I can hear the guard chime the dinner bell
Food arrives at my door, but no words are exchanged.
I watch out the window at the strangers
They all seem to be doing something different,
Something strange.
Everyday seems to be dragged on and on.
Inside my room it is dark,
There were barley any shadows,
Even when I peeked through the bottom of the door.
Every day I look out the window,
I pick up on some people’s routines,
But they will never know mine.
A couple dancing,
A old man doing hard labor,
And a woman walking through the streets.
But I stay put in my room,
Like a caged animal in a zoo,
Never to be let out in the wild.
I seem to be hidden away
No one ever looks up and sees me peering down
But I always see them
All My Strangers (Gracie)
The light seems to fade
as I walk on the busy street.
The people around me mind their
own business. As I continue
on I look more closely at the people
around me are. It is noiseless
as if the air is motionless. No one speaks
or stares because that would be too
much noise. There were barely any shadows.
I can almost taste the fear. I watched as a women
fought off her demons. The silence
was her strength. She looked like she was
screaming, but there was no noise that followed
The men I pass all hid behind these masks.
Almost as if they are playing a character.
Fear starts to creep inside of me. My brows
got closer the more I led myself down this
street. I loom around for the cameras to see if
my nightmare is being televised. But I see nothing.
*The Strange Man (Lilly)
My body began to itch and ache as
If I were being pried open. Was I alone?
Well, not necessarily. I tried to walk down
The street but the obstacles of life
Kept interfering. I was being squeezed
Like an orange for its bright juice...
But perhaps that was not me. A man was
Wrapping his arms around a woman
And squeezing her instead. Was it the
Hands of God trapping me? A noiseless
Blockage seemed to keep me from passing
But I needed to get to the backrooms of the alley,
Where someone was calling to me like a dog
Using a dog whistle. I was smacked out of my daze
By the wooden plank but no one seemed
To notice. Maybe it was the shroud on my dead
Body that made me disappear. To them I
Was not really there. But, honestly, I couldn’t
Tell if I was letting out the schizophrenia or not.
*The Stranger Within Myself (Hudson Borzeniatow)
It’s the same route I take everyday
The same box on my shoulder
Unchanged, unremarkable, and unfortunately…unavoidable
I walk, my bright suit casting the sun’s rays outward like a disco ball
A frowning man steps in front of me
“How can you live like this,” he asks
I shrug him off, “I have mouths to feed”
I take another step
My foot falls onto the ground
Swallowed by a hidden void
I awake in a world with barely any shadows
And I begin walking again
But something is different
The streets remain silent
Dropping my box, I race home
To find my wife standing in the doorway, frozen
Not in horror or shock or anger
Just frozen
I step outside and look up at the stars
Ready to confront whoever lay in my path
Squinting my eyes I make out the bronze lettering:
“The American Dream”
Quiet Strangers (Zoie)
Something was different about that day.
The day when everything seemed
to stand still like a pause.
The child no longer made squeals while
running after the ball. You couldn’t
hear the complaints of the woman,
and the “stop being stubborn” by the man.
Nor the confused jabbering of the small
boy quickly being shushed by his mother.
The pleasant greetings while
passing by have been silenced.
The chef can no longer direct the man
in white where to drop his board.
He must now hold it, forever, like Atlas,
when he was punished by the gods.
The world as you know I knew it was noiseless.
But the strangest thing was
that there were barely any shadows.
A Strange Presence - Pancho
I sat with crossed arms, staring out at today
With eyes that did not hold onto objects
There was no rhyme or reason for the stare
It was like it had its own objectives to fulfill
Showing how there were barely any shadows
As though they were hiding and trying to blend in
As though a presence was too much for it
The art and signs on the street shrouded themselves
Denying those who would want a glance
A priest walked on a curb looking up
Gesturing to the sun exclaiming his opinion
As though it should fix a problem unknown
A man further down sat on nothing
With a cocked head staring back with one leg up
Questioning what I was doing
People that faced me looked way
As if my stare could turn them to stone
As though my presence was a problem
Keeping eyes on my without a gaze
Strangers Among Us (Jaelyn)
Boring mornings and unsatisfactory afternoons
Fill my calendar. Every day I walk out of my shop
And out to the street to watch the uncanny faces
Of the people walking down them. There were
Barely any shadows beneath them as they went
About their days. The pale yellows and faded oranges
Of the buildings don’t hide me with the white of my
uniform, but nobody seems to realize I’m here.
Their lifeless eyes and manufactured movements
I watch them make day after day tell me that I will
Never be seen. Their movements are mechanical
Like as if they were programmed into their brains.
I watch them go, the child playing with her toy,
The ball bouncing in the same spots. The boy walks
Down the middle of the street singing the same song,
His tone almost feigning emotion. But I know not
To believe that these beings are capable of
Anything resembling genuine humanity.
Locked in the Strange Street (Yesier)
Walking the street filled with people
Colorful clothing with colorful emotions
The strange shadows stand out to me
Walking in between the light like a void
Everyone begins their daily lives
As I sit in my muddy concrete cell
The sun beaming through the room
Cutting the void into two
Where is the stranger I’ve been waiting for?
Who will come and unlock the air around me
My cellmate pounds his fists
bones begin to appear like a drum past breaking
I look around me as my cell fades
I see a boy with a ball whispering his name
Two more leaning together
I feel counted out
In the shadow between the buildings
I see myself hidden between the joy
There were barely any shadows
Until I saw the one that moved when I did
A Strange Crow (Francine Coffer)
I avoid looking at the painting that taunts me.
Why should I be forced to look at these lives when mine
is static as I watch them walk by?
Maybe it’s because my world took their
shadows, for there were barely any shadows
hugging their figures.
I would ask the people in the painting,
but they go on with their lives.
As if I am nothing in their space.
Or am I a dark figure
sitting in a heavily shaded room, with no movements
or accents of red dotting my surroundings.
If I turn to look at the painting,
must I stay here to watch them?
I am like a crow on a perch, where
I am watching and memorizing their faces.
I’ve known their routes, but not their names.
I watch them, shroud in the shadow I stole.
Damned to be watching them, till
the jailer tells me I’m free to go.
For ever more. Just a crow.
*Strange paranoic realization (Adilene)
I stare at the ticking clock,
My eyes making their way back to the painting.
I feel like I’m being sucked in.
I watch people moving, almost noiseless.
Like they aren’t real.
It feels real.
I stare at them. I feel empty.
It's all so strange, how there are barely any shadows.
I’m trapped and want to get out.
But there is no way out.
I feel manic, like a patient with no escape.
I want to go back to the ticking clock
But there is no ticking clock.
There never was a ticking clock.
I feel crazy,
I feel confused.
Someone approaches me.
I look deep into their eyes.
They have no soul,
I have no soul.
*The Strange Endeavor of Life (Megan)
I look around at the frozen faces surrounding me.
How strange it must be to exist yet not at the same time.
Doesn’t it get tiring? Standing still, frozen in place?
Unable to move along like the wind?
I try to listen, but just like before, the silence rings loud.
My noiseless surroundings threaten to consume the very
essence of who I am. Will I resist or will I also go silent?
Will I once more experience the heavenly chide of laughter
or the pounding storms of screams? I know I will take anything
over this deafening silence. I touch everything,
dragging my fingers across surfaces like a child in a toy shop.
I touch people. Do they feel me?
Do they understand that they hold no autonomy?
I take a deep breath, letting the air flow through my lungs.
There is no smell. No perfume or cologne of a passing stranger.
No mouth-watering smell of fresh food lingering in the air.
Do they no longer get to experience the joy of fresh baked bread?
The smell of fresh cut wood or unpleasantness of trash left out on a hot,
humid day? I taste the food that is held in the restaurant. There is none.
I lick the spoons, the women's purses, even the stone floor.
But there is not a single hint of flavor. Where is the joy in my life?
Everything has been stripped from my grasp, just like the statues around me.
*Strangers Under Quiet Glass (Malaciah)
I stand inside the glass
Pretending to be the guard.
The hallway bends like a question
that no one wants to answer.
My reflection keeps humming
as if it has swallowed the lights.
I press my palms to my wrists
To prove I can stop the clock.
Doors breathe open
And close behind my eyes.
Air is dragged across the floor
Like a heavy coat of dust.
I whisper to the ceiling,
About how there are barely any shadows.
The words hang there,
Drifting from my mouth like fog.
I feel curiously noiseless,
A stranger in my own skin.
The world tilts, swift but uncertain,
As I walk out of the stairwell still in the process of waking.
*Stranger Among Strangers (Vinny)
I don’t recognize this place anymore.
The streets no longer offer me a familiar image to hold onto.
Am I getting too old to remember or is the place itself changing?
I usually don’t concern myself with these people.
And yet they are everywhere. I cannot escape them.
Do they have any idea what they’re even here for?
Could I be the only one navigating this street with intention?
Or do they see me in the same light as I see them?
Should I waste the time I have left even thinking about these strangers?
Lying on the sidewalk, I look up at a sky that swallows everything whole.
There are barely any shadows to be seen in any direction.
Only a giant ball of potential Armageddon waiting to explode down on me.
Meanwhile, people walk past, sometimes even stepping over me.
Do they notice me the same way that I notice them?
Carrying their loads as if any of our responsibilities matter.
I wish not to concern myself with the trivialism of what anyone thinks.
But I continue to obsess over what they’re even here for.
My thoughts are dragged around like a child’s blanket across the dirty concrete.
A line of people is forming on the other side of the street.
One by one, another consumer is added to the queue.
What are they all lining up for and why do I care?
Why am I so engulfed in their behavior? Why do they matter?
The Strange Street where I Walked (Canye)
I do not know when I stepped inside the painting.
That the air would feel thicker than memory.
Feeling like the buildings are leaning towards me.
Weighing on me & my existence.
There were barely any shadows.
The street shined on me like im the star
But it's only the light I can see, not feel.
Alone & cold like im in a cage.
With nowhere to go but straight down the busy street.
Hearing the laughs & the sounds of Life.
But is it real or a dream?
They have faces, but no eyes.
They have voices but no breath.
I say hello and wave but no one waves back.
And I think; are they real and I'm the one who is fake?
Just who am I anymore.
Am I the walls of this prison or a boy hoping for a future still..
Feeling Like I'm invincible in a world of so many people.
But there I was walking down the street with no destination.
Feet feeling like I'm walking on cold metal floors, rather than a street.
Maybe one day I'll escape this dream & feel the real sun.
The Strange Reality (Nehemiah)
The weird thing about it all is that it feels real. Life goes on. My parents are here, life is good
actually.
A world filled with love, safe surroundings, and closure. My childhood. A sweet summer
evening.
It's five o clock and brighter than morning outside.
Kids playing, people walking, and a bakery baking. Summer feels summery.
Everything is normal right? It's not, it wasn't.
I fell deep into depression.
It was like I've been stuck in a coma for years.
Never waking up.
I've been dragged down so far from reality, I couldn't even get myself out.
I've hidden reality with my imagination…only it wasn't my imagination if was one of the best
days of my life.
Out of all days of my life nothing was like the summer Saturday of ‘85.
My wife was gone and I was stuck replaying the same day of my life from my 10th birthday.
My parents with me, bees buzzing, people loving except it wasn't real.
She made my inner child come out, that's why I was stuck watching myself
as a ten year old.
Except that wasn't real either.
Finally I wake up still in the locked classroom.
The guard in front of me telling me to ponder the image and write.
To see when I woke I was already finished and all I could say is the man spoke to me.
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