Sitting Alone on a Street Corner Watching

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This has been considered one of the best poems that I have ever written. It is just a simple little thing, written out of curious observation. I took to writing while sitting outside of the Borders book store awaiting the chance to meet Nikki Sixx with a bunch of other people. I just watched what was going on around me, and began to jot it down.

Submitted: March 13, 2008

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Submitted: March 13, 2008

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Sitting Alone on a Street Corner Watching

 

The buildings tower over my head reaching all the way up to the sky

Their windows shine in the sun gleaming in the light like magic monuments

There are buildings and lights as far as my eye can see

Some are new and clean looking

 Some are tainted by weather and time

 

Smells of all kinds graze my nose

The appealing scent of Italian food from the restaurant across the street

Dances its way over to my senses leaving a ghost of its taste in my mouth

 

An assortment of people pass by, each one different from the other

A woman dressed in an outfit of commanding, serious black

Clicks on by down the street in her high heels

She is one her way home from work

Back to her lavish apartment

 

A man runs by frantically, a wrapped gift in his hand

He is an average city dweller dressed in plain sweat shirt and tee

Running to catch the train back to his part of the city, to his family

To make it there for his son’s birthday

 

The sounds of the city overlap

Music blares from car stereos

Some rap, some rock, some dance

Regular chatter and yells fill the air as groups pass by

Cars beep, roar, and skid down the street

The noise all blends into a static

 

The sidewalk where I sit is old and worn

The barrier between the street and the path is uneven and discolored

Permanent stains are smoothed into the ground never to leave

Trash sits on the ground a few blocks away, despicably

 

For one brief moment the hustle and bustle stops

All that I see is the same, but the street becomes still

No one passes by, no one is heard talking or laughing

The static noise is far off in the distance

 

For one brief moment I sit alone on this corner

No one walks past me

And no dirty cold cars whizz by

Just me, alone, on this street corner

With the sound of my scratching pen

Sitting Alone on a Street Corner Watching

 

The buildings tower over my head reaching all the way up to the sky

Their windows shine in the sun gleaming in the light like magic monuments

There are buildings and lights as far as my eye can see

Some are new and clean looking

 Some are tainted by weather and time

 

Smells of all kinds graze my nose

The appealing scent of Italian food from the restaurant across the street

Dances its way over to my senses leaving a ghost of its taste in my mouth

 

An assortment of people pass by, each one different from the other

A woman dressed in an outfit of commanding, serious black

Clicks on by down the street in her high heels

She is one her way home from work

Back to her lavish apartment

 

A man runs by frantically, a wrapped gift in his hand

He is an average city dweller dressed in plain sweat shirt and tee

Running to catch the train back to his part of the city, to his family

To make it there for his son’s birthday

 

The sounds of the city overlap

Music blares from car stereos

Some rap, some rock, some dance

Regular chatter and yells fill the air as groups pass by

Cars beep, roar, and skid down the street

The noise all blends into a static

 

The sidewalk where I sit is old and worn

The barrier between the street and the path is uneven and discolored

Permanent stains are smoothed into the ground never to leave

Trash sits on the ground a few blocks away, despicably

 

For one brief moment the hustle and bustle stops

All that I see is the same, but the street becomes still

No one passes by, no one is heard talking or laughing

The static noise is far off in the distance

 

For one brief moment I sit alone on this corner

No one walks past me

And no dirty cold cars whizz by

Just me, alone, on this street corner

With the sound of my scratching pen


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