There’s something magical about a city illuminated at night. The bright lights. The dazzling skyline reaches into the heavens. Flashes of color and the buzz of activity promise excitement and adventure. There’s nothing quite like it.
And then there’s the hidden foul of night. Mysterious and low are the corners in the city. In the poem “New York at Night, ” Amy Lowell opens our eyes and senses to the city that never sleeps:
O Night! Whose soothing presence brings
The quiet shining of the stars.
O Night! Whose cloak of darkness clings
So intimately close that scars
Are hid from our own eyes. Beggars
By day, our wealth is having night
To burn our souls before altars
Dim and tree-shadowed, where the light
Is shed from a young moon, mysteriously bright.
Where art thou hiding, where thy peace?
This is the hour, but thou art not.
Will waking tumult never cease?
Hast thou thy votary forgot?
Nature forsakes this man-begot
And festering wilderness, and now
The long still hours are here, no jot
Of dear communing do I know;
Instead the glaring, man-filled city groans below!
Try It
Write a poem about a city at night. Write about its beauty or its beastly side. You can even personify your city. Share it with us in the comment section below.
Featured Poem
Thanks to everyone who participated in last week’s poetry prompt. Here’s a poem from Andrew we enjoyed:
Water
Stillness. A lake enshrined by reeds.
The slow buzz of a road beside, but
It is small. A drone that blends with
Insect hums. The sun falls on the water
And reveals the diamond-hue within.
Somewhere, in steel and chrome, the same
Happens on beams stretched out to heaven.
No one sees. Nobody cares to stop, to slow;
Appreciate the glint of sun as it strikes just so.
How lonely. Sad, disjointed and alone.
In cities, grass grows greenly in its squares
Appointed by a chain-weighed man of town
Whose job involves the management of life,
And whose reward seems nothing but a frown.
And there it gleams as fresh as in the wild
But no one sees. Here in the country, I can sit
And see the world go by in increments.
Not in a rush, for life is meant to savour
And not for souring with your haste. We see,
Back here, the beauty in the water.
—by Andrew
Photo by Martin Fisch. Creative Commons via Flickr.
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How to Write a Poem uses images like the buzz, the switch, the wave—from the Billy Collins poem “Introduction to Poetry”—to guide writers into new ways of writing poems. Excellent teaching tool. Anthology and prompts included.
“How to Write a Poem is a classroom must-have.”
—Callie Feyen, English Teacher, Maryland
- Poetry Prompt: Misunderstood Lion - March 19, 2018
- Animate: Lions & Lambs Poetry Prompt - March 12, 2018
- Poetry Prompt: Behind the Velvet Rope - February 26, 2018
Amy Aves Challenger says
through
navy blue
slivers of sky
clanging hangs high in
starry atmosphere of
backdrop hum
what gentle, urban tango
plays this drum
for bells of siren whistles
whooshing doorways whisper
thump thumping feet warn
of the next stranger’s harm
while the little ones
roll in sleep
baby maracas rolling beneath
bodies boxed
in hallway chambers
a grand orchestra
mixed heavy metal bangers
the city’s music a holy endeavor
thumping, heaving, loving
breathing forever
this dump, this triumph
the heart of
earth’s pump
Donna says
Amy, there is so much motion and rhythm here! From navy blue
slivers of sky to the heart of earth’s pump… I can feel it. I grew up in the country… your poem calls up a long ago memory of a visit to Greenwich Village – I could feel it… the city, I mean. I could feel it under my feet. Did you have a particular city in mind?
Thank you so much for sharing your vivid poetry with us!
Amy says
Thank you! Glad it connected:) I did not have a particular city in mind…only my experiences in Chicago and Manhattan combined I suppose. Thank you again for reading and for supporting writers and poets with all that you’re doing!
Bethany says
So much to love here, Amy! What a close:
“this dump, this triumph
the heart of
earth’s pump”
Thanks so much for sharing this, and nice to meet you. 🙂
Heather Eure says
I agree with Donna and Bethany. The pulse of your poem is captivating! Love the closing lines, too. Glad you’re here, Amy!
Jaya says
Transient existence
The glowing orb quietly dipped into the wide wet bowl
A jade grey undulating body of liquid of great expanse
Alone as I sat on the cement bench by a renovated bay
I watched a day, waving a silent goodbye to a bustling city.
The saffron skies turned purple and slowly grey black
The royal ship anchored flaunting all its golden shafts
Slowly turned to a silhouette,a giant princely treasure,
While hustle of the streets hugging the seafront cooled.
Stealthily braving its frail body over slippery rocky bolsters
An orange kitten found a perch on a dim lit place,anxiously
It watched the waves, lapping against the rock,ever so alert
To pounce on any small wriggling being caught in the rocks.
Crowd of tourists from far east changed to buoyant couples
Tourists busy clicking selfies with a royal ship in background
Replaced by locals; more immersed in themselves at the bay
The blustery wind playing prank with her hair and his turban.
The curved road lit with ornamental lights on carved Iron poles
Their neon lamps illuminating novo streets and a manicured park
The rocky cliffs that lined the street seemed to spring up new caves
As the cars of varying makes,some sedans many pick-up glided by.
A sudden screech on almost sleepy street turned many dark heads
A big wave broke sheen of bay ; a flash of shock ran through my heart
Hoping its not bad as my head seemed to say, I strained my neck
A frail orange kitten I saw, shake its head and run across the traffic.
Donna says
Oh, I really enjoyed this… and especially loved the image of waving good-bye to the day. 😉
And phew…. phew, for the little orange kitten.
Thank you so much for sharing your poetry today!
Jaya says
Thank you a lot Donna, for appreciating my little poem here. I must say the prompt has a lot of possibilities in it, enjoyed writing that poem inspired by that prompt.
You are doing a great job;encouraging people with a poetic bent to write something everyday.
Oh! Yes! The Orange kitten survived- Life mostly wins where there’s a will to live, shall I say?!
Donna says
Hooray for the kitten’s instincts! I love a happy ending.
So glad you came by! Heather has a knack for finding reallly intriguing prompts. 🙂 Kind of makes Monday mornings more fun. 😉
Jaya says
Wonderful!????
Bethany says
Jaya, thank you for sharing your writing! I was so relieved the kitty was okay. Love how you used the word “cooled” to describe the dwindling energy of the city in:
“While hustle of the streets hugging the seafront cooled”
Hope you share again in the future. 🙂
Jaya says
Bethany, Thank you for appreciating that poem.
Isn’t it reassuring to know that there are so many of us around, who love kittens& cats, btw it was written based on a real event.????
Sorry for being late to respond to you.
Heather Eure says
Wonderful poem, Jaya! Love how the images weave themselves throughout. Glad you shared it with us. Full of riches. 🙂
Jaya says
Thanks a lot Heather, for those encouraging words
I’m glad you enjoyed reading it????
Sorry for being late to respond.
Andrew H says
Thanks for showing my poem!
The city slumbers in the day. Light catches all,
But in its net the fairest fish look frail,
And even buildings only serve as slaves
Before the mighty force of sun and gale.
By night, it wakes, as does a sleeping bear.
The ways are lit with spears of light
Which weave as threads through night
And hold the tapestry together.
So fair the fabric which it weaves! And there
The cars are shown in vivid red and green,
The brighter still for being bright at night.
By day, we miss the brilliance of this city scene.
In shade of dark the people walk, and darkened thoughts
Are with their movements intertwined.
They who obey the law cast off their masks
And prowl the streets for any ill that they may find.
This city is not mine, for it was built by multitudes
And bears the scars of war. Here, men stood with their guns
And ships were built. The night reveals these wounds,
By day disguised as fonts where secret water runs.
The place that built that which could never sink, but did
Now sees itself. It has a beauty ‘neath the moon not seen
Beneath the sun. A savage power of the wild
Unbound, revealed, a sliver left of what had been.
Donna says
So much vivid imagery here, Andrew…. wow, I love the image of spears of light weaving the tapestry together…
spears of light
Which weave as threads through night
And hold the tapestry together
Heather Eure says
A beautiful poem, as always Andrew. My favorite verse:
“This city is not mine, for it was built by multitudes
And bears the scars of war. Here, men stood with their guns
And ships were built. The night reveals these wounds,
By day disguised as fonts where secret water runs.”
Just wonderful.
Prasanta says
The Light of Steep Shoulders
You are the moon, the white glow
Bouncing off the wet pavement
You are red streaks of light shimmering on the road
Your heartbeat sets the rhythm
Keeps pace with an electric night
I can dodge shadows with the receding sun
Because you are a million flames
Like old wax candles burning in every window
You are a million diamonds glistening through glass
Flickering at the city below
I can find my way home when I close my eyes—
Yes, even then, in that kind of blindness
And sleep between your steep glittering shoulders —
Yes, even sleep peacefully
Because you keep watch through each blazing hour.
Donna says
This is so visual, Prasanta… you have so beautifully given the city flesh and blood of its own right from the start… here – the heart beat, the color… wonderful:
You are red streaks of light shimmering on the road
Your heartbeat sets the rhythm
Keeps pace with an electric night
Heather Eure says
“And sleep between your steep glittering shoulders–”
Such a gorgeous poem, Prasanta.
Prasanta says
Thank you, Donna and Heather.
Rick Maxson says
Oleander Mandolin
So many windows
open to the city’s voice.
Walls full of moonlight. Sounds
of distant highway traffic
strum like strings and fingers.
And the long, oleandered esplanades
are not without music leading
me back to a different night.
It soothes me like a waterfall,
this spray of white that plays
a memory, carried in the air—
slick and liquored honeysuckled avenues,
bars pulsing riffs, from open doors,
evenings lit from balconies,
their candles flickering in time
to home and wayward bounding song.
Donna says
Richard… I feel music all the way through this… 🙂
Love this line –
Sounds
of distant highway traffic
strum like strings and fingers.
Rick Maxson says
Thank you, Donna.
Heather Eure says
“open to the city’s voice.” I especially like this line, Rick. A wonderful poem.
Michael says
Concrete Compositions
As night falls, shadows climb into the light;
the midnight sun giving them a new life.
Pedestrians completely unaware
as the shadows stop and stare
before they inconspicuously disappear.
The air tastes the sweet and salty sounds
of conversations that fall to the ground;
in between the cracks and lines of asphalt,
trampled nightly by a rhythmic assault;
where they started ends up being worlds apart.
Urbanites can’t help be drawn to its sparkle;
wealthy to the destitute the city isn’t impartial.
Determined to reach out for what they’re after
whatever the color, to them it doesn’t matter;
it ends up being their mistress or their master.
A city never sleeps but does take a brief respite
as night dwellers disappear well before the sunlight;
in the depths of the concrete streets the city exhales,
the sound of heels from a different breed takes flight
encapsulating the many different faces of city life.
Copyright by NewLife2008
Heather Eure says
This line really stood out to me:
“trampled nightly by a rhythmic assault;
where they started ends up being worlds apart.”
A lovely poem, Michael. Thank you so much for sharing it with us!