Friend

Sorry for not writing for quite a while. I'm taking a fiction writing class right now (link here), so inspiration or metaphors or little tidbits that would otherwise have gone to poetry are being kneaded into assignments for that instead. It's alright, it's good to expand your horizons and I am thoroughly enjoying the class. Hopefully I'll write more poetry soon, though. I miss it.

Friend
You ask, "May I call you my sister?"
No sir, you may certainly not
For I could not see you as brother
Though you treat me as a brother ought

You tell me you see me as teammate
But we both know I'm more than that
If that's all you think you see in me
I think we need to have a chat

I'd never imply that I love you
You say it, but only in jest
For in your uncertain subconscious
I'm always second or third best

I know that you have been my mentor
And I've been your teacher and guide
But instead of getting on our pedestals,
I suggest we stand side by side

What's the use in frivolous labels?
And dear, I don't mean to offend,
For you're so much better than any one name
And hence you're above all my friend

Klutzy

So this one's more or less unfinished... I could tell you it was meant to be that way for effect but it's not, that's just kind of how it turned out. Maybe you'll help?
I thought of the first couple stanzas of this one while doing vineyard work far far away, but because I had no paper I couldn't get very far into the poem without forgetting the beginning :P
It is actually a song but... I'm not singing it for you so hopefully you'll like it as a poem :)

Klutzy
I'm a little
Klutzy
Just a wee bit
Clumsy
Kinda sorta... You know...
Awkward with my feet

When you tell me "come here"
I will try but-
Oh dear
I am falling over
Continually

They tell me it's cute for the first fifty times
As I stumble through ice rinks and high mountain climbs
It's not like it's something I'm trying to do
I think I'm alright and then-
There goes my shoe

Somewhere in the awkward our two paths have crossed
You look know where you're going, I'm completely lost
You make fun of me for hanging out with nerds
And it doesn't help that I
Trip
On my words

But you know, I think that you're pretty darn sweet
And maybe you'll help me get back on my feet
Sorry for the trouble I'm putting you through
Because- I admit it- I'm falling for you

I'm still pretty
Klutzy
More than sorta
Clumsy
And what's even worse, I'm
Awkward with my heart

Hands

Sorry I haven't posted since Spain, I have a bunch of new unfinished poems and... plenty to do that takes priority over finishing them :P

Hands
They're dirty- well thank you for that
And there's a blister on my thumb
This pinky doesn't stretch out flat
Please don't point it out like I'm dumb

If you have nice hands, I won't whine‒
I too would like your satin skin‒
But my own hands suit me just fine
Each callous shows where I have been

These hands have climbed more trees and rocks
Than you've seen any grown man climb
They've greased engines and wound up clocks
And I splinter them all the time

They play tennis and violin,
You'll see it on my fingertips
And they get bored holding a pen
Or bucket without handle grips

Look! Here's a scar from boiling tea
This part has even had frostbite
And here's where the windshield cut me
On icy roads close to midnight

These hands work so hard kneading dough
For the best bread you've ever had
They can also hold newborns, though,
And give you great hugs when you're sad

My wrists may have some funny tans
And my fingers may not align
But my whole life is in these hands
And I thank heaven that they're mine

Four Copper Men

The statue described in this poem does not exist, but there is a similar statue by a fountain in Parque Central in Estepona, Spain.

Four Copper Men
There is a copper statue by a fountain made of gold
Four rusted men look at you- eyes wide open, tales untold
And all the passers by prefer the fountain and the park
A glance upon the statue and their bright faces turn dark
The metal men are two and two, some standing, some low down
Each holds a word in just one hand, and each one wears a frown

The first man, on his knees, tries hard to hide his small word "FEAR"
His bare back and his legs are scarred, and in one eye a tear
The second has two burdens, one a whip, the other "HATE"
He strikes man one- immobile in his undeserved fate
Man three faces the other way- "INACTION" is his word
He wears a suit and, hand on hip, finds one and two absurd
The fourth man's in a wheelchair, by his side the word "REGRET"
His face bears every time he swore I'll help, just not quite yet

From each man's eyes, one can surmise that he is not to blame
Some greater force has put him there, and yet it's such a shame
That in this golden fountain world we can't seem to provide
Man one with hope, or two with love, or three with worthier pride
As you pass through the park, my friend, I'll wonder just once more
Will you step up and change the world, or will you be man four?

Or Something

No, this is not inspired by anyone. Am I clear?

Or Something
Today or tomorrow or something
I hope to see you, dear, once more
And tell you or write you or something
About how much you´ve changed my world

And maybe, if it's alright with you
We´ll talk or we´ll laugh or... you know
Appreciate our time together
I don´t think I can let you go

I cannot promise that I love you
But I can come pretty darn close
And I think I am pretty certain
That you're what I've wanted the most

I'll be very honest with you dear
I don't really know what to say
But given "right here" or "wherever you are"
It's you I would choose any day


First time I´ve translated my own poem into Spanish, but here you have it
O Algo
Hoy o mañana o algo
Quiero verte, cariño
Y decirte o escribirte
Todo lo que me has hecho

Y tal vez, si no te molesta
Podemos hablar o reír
Aunque ya no estoy segura,
Dudo que te permito salir

No te prometo que te amo
Pero lloraré si te vas
Y creo que estoy segura
Que eres lo que quiero más

Yo estoy honesta contigo
¿Qué debo decirte? No sé.
Pero entre "aquí" y "donde tú estás"
Yo siempre te escogeré

Fog

Hm. We´ll see if I end up really liking it or really editing it. Also if I rename it. Vamos a ver.

Fog
The baby, with tears in her eyes,
Lets out a cry of distress
And cannot begin to surmise
How she´s created her own mess

"Yo quiero más leche, mamá,
Y no me gusta plátano"
But mother hears "boo boo na na"
And to check a diaper she´ll go

The man with his sack full of goods
Talents from a far away home
Goes through dozens of neighborhoods
His strengths and his past all unknown

"Puedo limpiar para usted
O crear tazas de barro"
But they don´t know what he has said
And, annoyed, they tell him to go

The girl with her head in a cloud
Finds her world is falling apart
And what she dares not say out loud
Is echoing throughout her heart

"Necesito mi libertad
Y no entienden mi dolor"
Her communication is odd
But she will try forever more

Sur de España

Oops. I said I wouldn´t write. Well I´m not writing in order because the ones I started first aren´t finished, and some poems would prove offensive. Therefore, I´m only posting 2 today, even though I´ve written most or all of 5 or 6. Oh well.

Sur de España

Había, por un tiempo, una chica-Luz
En el sur de España, en un pueblito
Y vendía sus cosas en Puerto Banus
A las turistas ricas, por su dinero

Luz era muy pobre, pero soñaba
De ser rica y, además, my feliz
Y con el tiempo, Luz siempre pensaba,
Podría ser famosa como una actriz

Pues el tiempo pasó, y Luz creció tambien
De niña a una adolescente
Lo que dicen turistas, los vendedores oyen
Y Luz comprendió todo de repente

Adiós a sus sueños falsos y tontos
Luz se casó y tuvo una bebé
Pero con su tristeza y sueños rotos
Hablaba a su hija con corazon fuerte

"Delora, mi niña, nunca olvides
Que siempre te doy apoyo y ayuda"
Le dió cuentas y dinero, entonces
Luz dió sus sueños a su Delora

Con mente abierta y educación,
Delora mudo norte a Inglaterra
Aprendió inglés y mucha información
Y compró una casa bella y pequeña

Se casó con un hombre en esa país
Y Bonita, su hija, nació muy pronto
Delora se aseguró que su hija era feliz
Y con esa mente Bonita creció

Como mujer joven, era hermosa
Y educadada-talentosa tambien
Bonita creció a ser muy rica
Y muy pronto encontró su "alguien"

Con todo el suerte que el Dios nos da
Bonita dice que merece todo
Sin entender lo que hizo su mamá
Cree que lo merece por su trabajo

Bonita y su hombre se enamoran
Bonita no recuerde nada de Luz
Y en el verano, los dos viajan
Al sur de España, a Puerto Banus

Night Running

I asked my friend (yes, the same one who suggested that I write a poem on penguins) for inspiration and he said I should write a poem on night running. I must applaud this idea, although night writing seems to be a less successful endeavor for me. Most of my recent poems have been in free verse and this is in rhythm so it's a bit odd-sounding to me but... oh well.

I'm leaving the state and, for some of the summer, the continent, so I cannot promise any poems in the next two months. HOWEVER, I will certainly try to get around to writing in Spain and hopefully by the time I get back I will have a significant amount to post all together at the end of summer.

Night Running
It's such perfect weather, the air still and dry
A brilliant moon rises in the cloudless sky
There are no great winds, but a delicate breeze
Floats by, barely noticed, hiding between trees
As I run alone at the end of twilight
The scene's indistinct, but with speckles of light
A couple of lamps, a bedroom, and some stars
The occasional headlights of one or two cars
But shh! Beyond that it's all dark shades of grey
The silence and darkness veil all that is day
Protected suburban folk just cannot bear
Such unsafe practice times-- "You'll get hurt! Beware!"
But I in my old shoes and thin cotton tee
Can finally taste what it is to be free
In the still of the night, feeling one with the wind
Free from all that I've worried and all I have sinned
Not quite running away, but to get it all out
In lieu of a punch or a rage or a shout
For here, it is silent, just me and my soul
And finding wherever, my singular goal
And though I do not for an instant stand still
I find clarity in each grueling uphill
A run though the city while it itself sleeps
My stresses and worries and secrets, it keeps
And I, without judgment or fear or distrust
Find peace in running through an urban world's dust

You

"Will you miss me?"

You?
You who put me through so much?
You who always talked and rarely listened?
You who kept me up past any reasonable hour?
You with whom I have so little in common?
You who, within yourself, had enough pessimism and stress for the both of us?
You who never held yourself accountable for your problems?
You obsessive, uncultured pessimist, you
You have the nerve to ask me if I will miss you?

Yes I will, and more than you can possibly fathom
I'll miss your constant amazement at those little things that I ignore
I'll miss your crazy obsessions
I'll miss being able to call you about anything and know you have an answer
I'll miss hearing your name and smiling because nobody realizes someone so outrageous
Can also be so wonderful
I'll miss your ability to forgive--good heavens how I've needed your forgiveness
I'll miss your impeccable memory
I'll miss how you could see into people
You may never admit it, even to yourself, but boy could you see straight to the heart of a person
And I'll miss how, in understanding people, you always failed to notice the outside layers
I'll miss your you, amigo
Yes that's it
The rest is fluff
That's all there is to it, amigo, I'll miss your you.
My you?
Your you.

Penguins

I know this looks long but the lines are like 2 words long so calm down.

I was running low on ideas. You knew a poem called "Penguins" would have to start with an excuse like that. I have a nice little file on my computer of incomplete poems and it's growing...
Anyway I asked a friend for inspiration last night and this is what I got.

Penguins
Whoosh
WHOOSH
Antarctic wind

Whoosh
Whooooooooooosh

Silence

Pristine brilliance
And the perfect place
To contemplate
Without distraction
Or interference
Or noise
If only...

BRRRRRRRRRR
No room for thought
~chill~
As a frozen wind WHOOSHes the thoughts right out of me

Whoooooooooosh

Silence

Back home, they say I'm white as snow
Here? My skin is pink
No, not pale pink
Pomegranite pink

It's a little...
C-
C-
C-c-collllllllllld

WHOOSH

Silence

And then

Pit
Pat
Pitter patter
Where?

Silence

P-patter
Do you hear it?
P-pit pat
But where?
How could I miss anything in this
Monochromatic world?

WHOOSH
Maybe that way
Silence
I could just be hearing things

Pitter
Pitter pat pitter pat pitter pat
Over the hill!
Not so flat after all
Little specks of pepper
In this life-sized salt shaker
WHOOSH
And it's really shaking
Powder blowing everywhere
But
In the distance

Patterpatterpatterpatter
Can you hear them?
They don't try to hide
They couldn't if they tried
But, accepting their unique circumstance,
Pit pat

All together
Mammas and babies
And even those rebellious teenagers
Not so rebellious after all
Pittering, pattering
Each with his own set of steps
Of footprints
Each helping his neighbor
...If nomads can have neighbors...

And they come closer
The adorable mascots of millions
Selling earrings, shirts, socks
Mascots of sports teams, publishers, cookies, even tuxedos
Subjects of hundreds of movies
And yet
Pit
Pat
Pit
There they go
A colony of them
Perhaps boastful, certainly proud
Passing nonchalantly
Pitter patter
Pitter patter

Never surprised, never discontented
And though I am numb
Completely comfortable
At peace
With each other
With the snow
With the wind

Whoosh
They pass

Silence

Later June

50th post!

So the rest of the country is already sick of summer and heat and dead grass but around here it's just divine. It still rains one or two days a week, but on the other hand it keeps the flowers and grass looking pretty and nobody can whine about the warmth of those days that are sunny.

I must apologize for not writing in quite a while, and I'd like to be able to say that I'll write much more during the summer because I have time, but as a matter of fact I leave this week and won't be back until late August. I will, however, try to write more this week.

Later June
These days the sun gets up at five
And doesn't sleep til ten
And all the blue jays come alive
Waking me up with them

It's not too hot, but warm enough
To lay out in the grass
These are the days of clouds like fluff
And morning runs so fast

When each moment is seen as spare
And each day thought as free
Yes, free to go quite anywhere
It's all just fine with me

The barefoot days of later June
No fears and no regrets
From early dawn to sunny noon
And right 'til the sun sets

And even when it does go down
Those few hours we call night
We'll find a park just out of town
And stay up 'til it's light

Bikini days? Time to sunbathe?
It's just not quite that hot
Or summer flings, hormones ablaze?
Lo siento, I think not

And even with nothing to do
And with friends far away
I've something to look forward to
Each early summer day

Oh picnics and oh swimming pools
Oh wishes youth won't end
Oh final moments without rules
Oh I'll miss this, my friend

See Jane Run

Well this didn't turn out how I expected
...I guess that's the whole point of the poem though, so it's alright.

I've actually only ever read one (or maybe only part of one) Dick and Jane book in my life, and that was about ten years ago. I don't have a clue where the idea came from, but it worked out alright. And no, it's really not that long, you'll notice it's a particularly fast read =P

See Jane Run
See Jane laugh
See Jane squeal
See the way new parents feel

See Jane play
See Jane run
See Jane having so much fun

See Jane learn
See Jane grow
See her learn things you don't know

See Jane's doll
See Jane's pup
See her eager to grow up

See Jane lose
See Jane fall
See Jane learn to miss the ball

See Jane love
See Jane live
See Jane learning to forgive

See Jane hurt
See Jane cry
See Jane start to question why

See Jane run
See Jane play
See Jane swear she'll run away

See Jane's grades
See Jane done
See that airplane and she's gone

See Jane work
See Jane's grown
See? She's just fine on her own

See Jane's heart?
See it break?
See it's not your load to take

See Jane's books
See, Jane's through
See she just now misses you

See Jane trip
See Jane stand
See she's not the girl you planned

See Jane try
See Jane aim
See your daughter all the same

See Jane run?
See Jane race!
See you've never kept that pace

See Jane fight
See Jane win
See she's proud of what's within

See Jane's mess
See Jane's shelf
See at least Jane knows herself

See you'll never
Understand...
Wait a minute—see Jane's hand

See Jane's eyes
See that curl
See you've no choice, Jane's your girl

Dew

I guess this is partly inspired by the poem (love song, with two goldfish) by Grace Chua. That poem was on an IB test... inspiration comes in surprising place.

Dew
He's on the road
She, on the grass
She is dancing
He, running fast

The sun tiptoes
Into the sky
They're already up
Heaven knows why

She spins and spins
One leg in air
Fairy arms outstretched
Young skin so fair

He runs so quickly
Round the block
But if he were
To stop and walk

That girl could win him
With her grace
And he would run some more
Just to chase

That tulip skirt
Her scent of rose
For when she dances
Her spirit shows

And so she'll dance
A little more
And soon
She's what he's running for

The long, soft grass
Beneath their feet
And neither cares
To sleep or eat

Together for
One day
One night
When he wakes up
She's wearing white

His dreams turn into
Little drops
And for one moment
He finally stops

"I plan to live
My life for you
Do you for me?"
And she
"I dew"

Right to Dream

If you think the title is a Five for Fighting reference, you are correct.

Right to Dream
They can take away our right to read
Or just burn all the books
Or force us to dress modestly
Or if not, see who looks
The rules can tell us not to print
Or state uncouth ideals
Or choose for us which coins to mint
Or even choose our meals
The church can excommunicate
The country set up jails
But one small thing, nor church nor state
Controls, it always fails

Beyond all speech and art and rule
Is all that you could be
Not what you are, or how in school,
But hypothetically,
All that you've got inside of you
Your mind, your heart, your soul
And all that you can dream of too
Those they can never toll

And yet with all our rights today
We've lost something it seems
Despite our opportunities
I sense a lack of dreams
We somehow think we're happiest
If rich, or quite well known
We claim not to care how we're dressed
But worry on our own
Something about society
Has taught us to restrain
Our dreams to what we think can't be
And life to something plain

It's funny how a dream goes on,
Just dancing through the trees
Ready to have a little fun
A product of the breeze
And yet we all insist that life
Is lived a certain way
You'll go through college, be a wife,
And things will be okay
But God forbid that you should think
Of something so extreme
As to your thoughts with actions link
And follow some great dream

Some will follow, some will lead
But neither calls to me
For I must combine thought and deed
To live completely free

Pocket

Lots of love poems lately.
Darn this Kate Nash obsession. So no, this isn't based on a real person. No really, it's not. It's inspired by this. Isn't that cute? I think it's just fabulous :)
The poem has odd rhymes because it was written at 1:30 am. Someday, I might give it a severe case of the edits. As for now... If you want to see normal rhyming go back to February or March... Or December. That works too.

Pocket
Those dark brown eyes, and soccer guys--that's how I think of you
And wishes upon fireflies--dreams never to come true
Beyond your odd no-soul facade, you had something I sought
And somehow I would bring it out--at least, that's what I thought
Between your nonsense talks with friends, I gave you a small gift
Hoping to view the best of you--praying you'd catch my drift
"Please take good care of it" I said, turning to walk away
But you must not have heard, caught up in your too-busy day
And rushing off to get things done, you couldn't know to fret
About the delicate treasure left in your coat pocket
Practice begins, ball hits your shins, you trip but you're just fine
But I see something else get hurt--something that once was mine
Play continues, more dirt, more falls, practice comes to an end
You walk right by, for to you I was never more than friend
You never knew, but to you I'd laid down my sword and shield
Surrend'ring all, I walk alone onto the sandy field
I find it there, though it is bare, stepped on, and torn apart
It's fine, although I'll have you know that was my only heart

Hatter

I saw Alice in Wonderland the other day. Everyone told me it was terrible, so I was pleasantly surprised. Not that the plot was very good (and, as one friend pointed out, it's Alice in Wonderland--it's not even supposed to have a plot), or that it will be on my shelf forever, but it made me think quite a bit, and that's what I like in a movie.

ALSO, did you notice how similar it was to the Wizard of Oz? I noticed that near the beginning and after that I couldn't get the thought out of my head, it just kept being similar. I s'pose that's a good thing--I've always loved the Wizard of Oz. Well, here's my first poem based on something else. Heaven knows if you'll like it and, like the last poem and perhaps all of April's poems, it's a bit unconventional in format. Well, Alice in Wonderland was never meant to be conventional anyway :)

Hatter
Tick. Tock. Tick.
Time passes so quick
And I mustn't be late
For such a crucial date
Tock. Tick. Tock.
And so goes the clock
But I'll throw it away
Who needs rhythm anyway?

Tick. Tick.
Whooo are youuu?
And what's up with you two?
Tock. Tock.
I didn't know that caterpillars were blue
And while we're on the topic
Why red and white? Why not red and black? Like cards?
Tick.
Why must they always be fighting?
Tock.
Poetry or prose? Are they fighting too?
Wasn't I rhyming?

Well, nevermore
...quoth the raven. Who is like a writing desk, I've heard
But all the reasons are absurd
So in ignoring them, we'll spite them
Nay, we've always got to fight them.
Off with their heads!

Mmmmm
That hatter fellow
M m m m m
It must be the glue
M
And all its Mercury
Making him so Mad
But really, he's not so bad
Besides, all the best people are mad
Or is it only the most productive?
Or the most remembered?
Who are the "best" people?

Tick tock tick
Who are the good people
Little sisters?
Biased parents?
What about the ugly grandchildren?
Nobody chooses to be ugly
Well, nobody chooses to be pretty either.
Alice.

Tick tock.
Maybe appearances deceive. Like those roses.
Tock tick.
But maybe red really is unfit
Why hearts then?
I'd rather be loved
They will respect you if they love you
...Won't they?
They respect her
Appearances indeed

What about those roses?
They don't know they're white...
Are they white?
Which alice?
Um...
A lie? Or did you even know to begin with?
Tick.
Well that was a very very very long time ago
Tock.
Time so much has happened, how could you remember?
Tick.
It happened all the same, how could you not?
Tock.

And that cat.
No obligation to anything
Space
Time
Clocks
Tick Tock
But as for the rest of us
We must indeed prepare a response
Ugly grandchildren it is
Perhaps ugly children are the root
Or no grandchildren whatsoever
What does it matter?
Tock tick

So we draw to a close
And we might as well
You've lost your muchness anyway
And up we go
Or is it down?
Darned elixer
And cake, or mushrooms
Mmmushrooms
Mmmuchness

Well, what's it all anyway?
And see you soon
Though heaven knows why I'd return
What heaven?
Whooo?

Magnolia

If you have been to my house, you might know the tree/house to which this refers: our house was remodeled ten years ago and we lived in the house two doors down (by the cul de sac) and there was a very nice magnolia tree that bloomed in the front yard every spring and left beautiful flowers, with which my sister and I used to pretend to be everything from flower girls to fairies.


Magnolia
Within our yard, some years ago, a tree of flowers stood
Being a tree, desire-free, it only brought us good
We'd climb way up and jump way down, and read beneath its shade
And from its bright magnolias, bouquets we often made

Papa built us a swing there once, but it did not last long
My brother sat, the rope collapsed! The tree, of course, stayed strong
I used to dream of growing tall and climbing to the top
Until I'd reach the highest branch, and then I'd have to stop

One April day, my parents paid a gardener to come
To help the front yard brighten up, let in a bit more sun
"Some orchids here, and lilies there, and there's a guy I know
Who'll cut down your magnolia- that tree just has to go"

And such became, without our say, the great tree's dreadful fate
As when, uncrowned, a king falls down, warned only by "checkmate"
Face-first upon our perfect lawn, that piece of beauty fell
Goodbye great climbs and reading times, goodbye to floral smell

Laid out all nice upon the grass, I fin'ly reached its peak
But I could hardly bear to touch, to see glory so weak
The sun still shines, the grass still grows, the bumble bees still buzz
And in my room, there still can bloom painted magnolias

Amor Descoyuntado

I started this quite a bit ago... for some reason or other I really like the word "descoyuntado"
I think it will be quite a while until I write a love poem that actually applies to me, but I do like this one. It does, however, have little to no relevance to my own life.

Amor Descoyuntado
En algún lugar de mi mente
Sé que no funcionará
Que tú nunca me vas a amar
Con todo tu espíritu
Que nunca puedes ser el mío
Y nunca vas a decir eso

Pero en mi corazón
Nada lo puede creer
Yo sé que no voy a ser tuyo
y honestamente,
En ese lugar de mi mente, yo sé que no quiero eso
Pero mi mente no controla mi corazón
Nunca ha sido así

Pero hay algo que sé
En mi mente y mi corazón
Nunca puedo amar a otro, con todo lo que tengo
Porque una parte de mi corazón
No importa cuán pequeña
Siempre va a ser tuyo

Pues
¿Qué voy a hacer, con este amor descoyuntado?
Que no puedo aumentar, ni disminuir,
Que no vas a devolver, ni concluir
¿Qué podría hacer?

Así es nuestro amor
No, no es nuestro. Es tuyo y mio
Así es el amor que una vez compartíamos
Sólo una vez...
Sólo un momento...
Pero en este mundo de "siempres"
Era una vez que durará para siempre
Un momento que durará por toda la eternidad
Un amor breve hasta eternidad
Descoyuntado por siempre

Esta Ciudad

Sincerest apologies for not having written in two and a half months. I am extraordinarily busy but I have missed writing. We'll see when I write next... could be in an hour, could be a couple months.

Esta Ciudad
Las aves discuten en voz alta, en voz muy alta
Hay pan en la tierra y todas lo quieren
Pero nadie les manda que se callen, y algunos les dan más pan
¿Por qué? Pues, son aves
Y nos encantan las aves en esta ciudad

Un hombre toca la guitarra en la plaza, y otro toca un saxofón en la esquina
Una niña empieza a bailar a la música y la gente se ríe
Hay pescado aquí, frutas frescas allá
Los músicos y vendedores son pobres y poco extraños
Pero nadie les manda que salgan con sus sonidos y olores
¿Por qué? Pues, traen cultura
Y nos encanta la cultura en esta ciudad

Hay ricos aquí y pobres aquí
Hay gente de China, India, Europa, México, y Tombuctú
La ciudad es grande—no todos se conocen entre sí, pero todos somos amigos
No hay ni tristeza ni ira aquí
Es imposible fruncir el ceño en esta ciudad, y el miedo sale corriendo

Una joven se sienta en un banco y escribe poesía
Lleva una chaqueta lleno de color y una sonrisa llena de amistad
Algunos le saludan y algunos conversan con ella
Pero todos devuelven su sonrisa
¿Por qué? Pues, ella es una persona
Y nos encanta toda la gente en esta ciudad