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Array
(
[sid] => 115763
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Manhattan Island
[time] => 2006-03-03 14:06:44
[hometext] => The other week I was looking through some family photos and there was one of a litle child in the road, sitting infront of a little wooden box. It just got me thinking and this poem arose from it.
[bodytext] => The box lies empty beneath the rolling streets of Manhattan island The dying, bleeding sun illuminating the coffee house, the apartment building, the playground. a subtle golden glow The ground lies barren the hustle and bustle gone from the landscape Strangely empty without them but Manhattan all the same. Manhattan, all the same Marching forward on forgotten ground, the sun light deepens the cold intensifies and the darkness comes. From within, a cry a girl she weeps crying for her city, her box. replaced by Manhattan. She cries her tears falling rapidly from her face she tries to smile, but she cannot instead she frowns. And in the wind, whistling through the air, A plastic cup is caught it's corporate logo visible on the underside stamped on like a chemical burn. “Star dreams coffee” it says, printed big and bold on the side, the logo unmissable. The only object of color for a thousand miles. In all directions. And then, it begins. Another plastic Jesus appears the wind whipped into a frenzy A “Burger master” carton. A “Super Cola” can A “Pap” T-shirt floating on the wind carried by decency. Everything comes floating back. The wind carrying it across the air it's here and now it's morning. [comments] => 4 [counter] => 176 [topic] => 73 [informant] => Franko [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => abstract )
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