• Angst



    hard to see the monkeys
    stacked in my back pack
    traveling on buses and trains in my youth
    i pass junkies and hookers
        having private sex in public rooms

    in error
    i touched a hypodermic needle
    and washed my hands for years
    my heart protects the steeple
    while caught up in it's gears

    street smart and book crooked 
    i looked the part of hood
    torture turned to hook it
    and formed the common good

    now comes the gunman
    the sun is coming out
    shining guns and yellow youth
    no one goes without


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    BreeLove commented on skyline


    sometimes the pain of our childhood, and our past is too much to bear, and scars (inside and out), and a constant reminder that it was all real, but it also lets us know we survived! take what u need and move on, its ok to look back, but keep movin forward! we are not defined by our past, but what we choose to do with what we learned!



    very true, bree. I / we write a lot about where we've been to see where we are going. thank you for your time.

    cheronld commented on skyline


    I think we all have walked through this neighborhood in vastly and same ways....your ghetto is another person's private hell but public JOAN CLEVER....its not so much about coming out of it unscathed ( which I think is unrealistic ) but....being seasoned by it all....we take the experience...good...bad...and ugly...and it shapes us forever....You have so much to say and I hope someday that I can pick up a book and get blown away from what I will would be great to see some more from you soon....Cher



    thank you , Cher. you make me want to write....i adore the attention you pay to my poems. i cannot thank you enough for your ever present encouragement.



    Consider my encouragement a staple in all my comments and readings of yours....NOW....get to writing and show us all what we have been

    Chaos128 commented on skyline


    Ah... We can play a cautious game, but push come to shove, as long as we're in it, it's the hood that's calling the shots (pun is unintentional... but also undeniable).



    oh's you ! i've missed ya. thanks for reading me. i have been in a huge slump creatively and my poems are conveying such. i am not giving up, however. gotta keep writing.

    Tempestlady commented on skyline


    I read it a bit differently twice. For me this piece is about learning the lessons of life on the streets and on the rooftops. It's about living life after the school of hard knocks. I loved that you left so much between the lines. It is somewhat obscure i will agree with the previous reader where the title is concerned. However i found it stimulating, and intriguing and in touch with some of my own tough lessons in life. Write on...........stay strong..................Tlady



    skyline is is a universal touch, it proves that what "happens here, happens everywehre." thank you tlady for seeing my vision so abruptly and claearly. i am a big fan.

    SerenityWintirs commented on skyline


    I grew up in a series of neighborhoods where the barrio meets the ghetto so I can relate to this, although you would never believe it now considering how vastly different my personality has become. I really love the way that you told this story. You used just the right amount of metaphor while staying true to the subtext by allowing most of the lines to speak for themselves. My favorite part is the third stanza. The title also seems to allude to an almost hidden and unvoiced element of the work. Crush, you just need to spend an entire evening brainstorming and writing and just post anything and everything that comes out because I think that you will truly find your voice. You have so much to say and I think that you are holding back a little bit of yourself. Your story *needs* to be told in it's provocative and enlightening entirety



    first of all, i thank you for the kind words and sincere critique (most welcomed). second, you have interpreted my little story perfectly and i appreciate your time. all i ever wanted to be was a poet...strange aspiration, huh. i wrote my first poem at 11. yes, and being raised in the ghetto left me strong and with some amazing stories and experiences. i was going to title this poem, "Why Am I Still Alive". you understand this because you lived it as well. it was tough but, i wouldn't change most about it. again, thank you for your time, Serenity.

    Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    Crush’s Poems (59)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    carried off by owls 1
    Santa Claus Is Coming Around 1
    skin 2
    the midnight girl 1
    hold 1
    here 0
    the other 1
    flashback 1
    violent pretty 1
    the people in the attic 1
    the ride 1
    my nightmares are awake 1
    no bugs 6
    waiting 3
    welcome 5
    a fetus in a clear bowling ball 6
    crows feet 7
    rats 5
    the mobster 4
    perfect 6
    jumper 5
    lady godiva 3
    malaise 3
    pirate 4
    flight on time 3
    fear of falling 4
    unfinished crow ? 5
    touch ( aka, am i made of summer ) 8
    elephant 5
    cancer 8
    skyline 5
    st. saviour 2
    satellites 4
    were you waiting for me ? 10
    snapshot 5
    fists 12
    lauren 17
    insomnia 18
    ceremony 12
    mother 14
    ash 27
    the june bug 15
    low 19
    thorns 10
    paralyzed 9
    mr. sparkle 15
    dresses 15
    glass 13
    cemetaries 18
    throe 18
    if i fell in love 27
    pills 22
    off black 20
    mannequin 22
    umbrage 12
    sick boy 12
    kelly has a big head 21
    unfairly fairy 26