City of Poets   by L.M. Ross



Just before my father died, he told me I should write more about the homeless in NY. I did. For the last few years I've been using words to call attention to a reality some of us would rather not see. lmr


Under indigo night skies
I have walked
in hustling strides
beside the cry of
minor poets, creating
city songs & future
sonnets in our minds.
With Manhattan decked out before us
like a glamorous showgirl... some have
fixed their tongues as
loaded weapons to hurl
insults and poems upon
these neon stumblebums.  
Meanwhile, I have walked 
beside the throb of open hearts,
the plaintive cry of open
souls, and this raging of once
eloquent throats...
And yet, I have dared called myself 
"a poet..."
when The Real Ones wear
mortal coils thick with wisdom
and woe.   Their
eyes frozen wide
inside of silver sockets...
homeless.... but for 
the castles they build with 
their tongues.    
I have walked
in hustling strides
beside the anguished cries of
forgotten poets, unsung singers,
and broken dancers, creating
Broadway shows
and such lonely spectacles
inside our minds.
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