Twisting, wringing, Plummeting to the earth With no parachute I’ll land on my feet (I always do, though my knees crumble from …
Sometimes I wonder what I am doing In a city As I pass a hidden forest And the smell The sweet, fecund …
i can feel it rising the ocean of bilious emptiness sweeping away my peace i thought i’d built on rock it’s these …
beside water’s lap she bows her head alone with herself and her dreams suspended in an afternoon hazy summer sun sighing in …
A breath of family did I feel While hours passed within that meal. The glow of friendship, soft and deep, Into night’s …
The thrill that comes from Being the only one to Ride to the next block Is not a small thing. Your bike …
Giddy shrieks drift through my window
On a musty river of moonlit air
Its damp nostalgia recalling
Capture the Flag at midnight
On the dew-drenched lawn
AÂ charged haze of freedom
On a cloudy night of teenage summer
Eighth Avenue at midnight
is a murky sea of smoke and rouge,
on which the battered hulls and tattered sails of the impoverished
struggle to stay afloat,
the jagged rocks below the waves,
more stubborn than steadfast.
A grey cloud tries to rise higher in the mire of fatigue
the dark, navy Hudson
sparkles beneath a gold and rosy skyline,
the orange sun bouncing off,
a swathe of trees,Â deep green, separating the two,
and the cloudless sky is so clear, the world is high-definition.
all the haze of summer has been swept away
by this crisp fall breeze fluttering down the train tracks,
from the Verrazano Bridge standing nobly at the mouth of the bay.
you can taste autumn
and it is cool and clear like a mountain stream.
the city of skyscrapers is scrubbed and polished,
ready for its white mink coat of winter.
vibrant cantaloupe and mellow goldenrod
fade in tone but not clarity
until darkness settles.
I smell a football game somewhere.
Copyright 2013 by Gingham And Steel.Â Please ask for permission to reprint!