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Rama Krsna Jul 2022
by this man-made lake
a steady drizzle hums,
the sun, yesterday’s news
as nature’s palette turns green and gray.

staring into the gun metal sky
she nuzzles her hennaed hair
into his gandhian lap,
mesmerized by the pitter patter
she dubs, as tears from heaven.

a bow-shaped stone bridge on the near horizon,
red-eared sliders floating on the water,
the pencil thin architectural skyline,
even the floating melancholy mute swan
beckons monet to rise like the phoenix
and have a second go at whimsical life

but not me,
with a cornucopia of life-scars to show,
and a ticking clock that’s monotonously relentless,
this trip to the crease better be
the last time at bat


© 2022
calypso Feb 2022
from my new york window,
i can see tall structures,
see snowfall upon green rust,
tiny ants move busily on jobs,
with their lives, missing rides,
all of this from a glass wall.

from my new york window,
i can find peace.
if it means staring at life moving,
playing a one-person game

is new york always this quiet at night,
the stars not shining as bright?
does their light not burn through dark stone?
or bring out the best in all?
new york, new york
where are you?
where are your wonderful parties?
where have you been?

from my new york window,
i can tell its faint outside
where are your constellations?
they used to move around your city
i miss when they were nebulas
just starting to explore the world
i was never like a ball of fire
so eager to be thriving
so ready to leave being an atom,
joining molecules, being compounds

new york, do you miss me?
do you remember our memories?
of us in the snow, looking above, making angels,
talking about how life would never be enough?
new york, don't you remember,
you and i being friends, singing together?
new york, you don't remember me
because i was never there,
i have never been to your magnificent city.
you are for all the big lights, the huge suns
i was never made to be a fireball,
never so much one to live a free life
new york, don't miss me
I'm not worthy of being so precious like your sky.
i never was, i never will.
new york, my best wishes to you,
don't forget me,
when you don't know me well.
in the third stanza, im talking about new york during the pandemic.
Anais Vionet Jan 2022
I saw Sting in the lobby this morning, we were going out and he was coming in. Lisa nudged me, “Sting” was all she whispered. He was with a woman and a man. The woman was talking to the doorman. Sting was dressed all in black except for a long stark-white cashmere scarf, he was chatting and working a dark-gray French-flat-cap around in his hands. His hair is very short and white.

We wanted to walk in the snow, if only for a minute.
A gust of wind caught us as we reached the sidewalk. The two American flags, on either side of the entrance, went rigid, at 9-o’clock as if saluting us. “Jeeez!” I said, like the Georgia girl I am - or was. “Don’t be a baby,” Lisa answered, like a true, pittyless New Yorker but her cheeks had turned a child-like pink. She flipped up her collar.

I patted my pocket, relieved to feel my phone and know that if we froze to death the authorities could use “find my friends” to locate our bodies.

Leeza joins us a moment later and I can’t help but notice that she’s dressed like it’s a cool fall day. Back in the day, when my brother would dress like summer even though temperatures in Georgia had dipped cruelly into the fifties. Seeing him, my mom would say, “Where there’s no sense, there’s no feeling,” but I don’t.

“Did you see Sting?” I asked Leeza (12). She gives me a blank look. “Sting”, I said, “the lead singer for The Police?” I add, as clarification. “I don’t know who that is,” she says flatly. “He was famous,” I say in surrender, “a long time ago, in the 90s.” Maybe the next generation won’t be as celebrity driven.

Thank God Lisa suggested I pin my artist-beret down or it would have blown away, like my resolve to walk in the snow. Still, I followed Lisa into the park like a cat on a leash - unwilling to be seen as any less Canadian. The show crunched like we were trampling over snow-cones.

Trees began turning away the wind as we entered Central Park, “I think we may survive.” I said cheerfully. Just because you're freezing to death doesn’t mean you can’t be ​​affable.

Why don’t pigeons freeze to death - I thought birds flew south for the winter?
BLT's Merriam-Webster Word of The Day Challenge: ​affable
Anais Vionet Oct 2021
I spent Fall Break with Lisa (one of my college suite-mates) in NYC. They live in a Central Park South high-rise. I hope to spend Thanksgiving there someday because the Macy’s Day Parade goes right by their front window. “Yeah,” Lisa says in a bored voice, “right down there.” (They’re about 45 floors above it.)

Lisa has a younger sister (12), named Elizabeth (who likes to be called Leeza (pronounced LeeZa) and yeah, that can be confusing). Pretty, little, stick-figured Leeza, wears braces, has fluorescent green eyes, long, curly, red hair, and gorgeous, fair, vampire-like skin that’s freckled to perfection.

Leeza is one of the funniest people I’ve ever met - so she’s always surrounded with laughter - and goaded by laughter, she’s fearless. We’re at this posh “On the Green” restaurant (outdoor, terrace dining) and Leeza won’t take her Airpods off (no matter how mad her mom gets). Her dad finally says, “What are you listening to?”

When asked, Leeza stands up and starts singing, clapping and herky-jerky beat-dancing “the Monster Mash.” It was so sudden and funny that I coughed cherry coke out of my nose. The entire restaurant erupted in laughter and then applause at this crazy, scarecrow beauty’s brief, comic performance.

Someday that girl’s gonna be a STAR.
Fall break in New York City - woot! Although it's on 60 miles from New Haven - it's a whole different world.
Davina E Solomon Sep 2021
Yesterday, a cloud burst in mythologies
and the rain fidgeted over the retreat

of a tidal pantheon; deities swept away
by a current, and we stood awhile, watching

the moon elbow out the dusk. Breathing
is burdensome when cars float on water

and corpses leak out of cavernous
basements. Every tablet, etched, in the cold

heart of building code was read again
and then again. It wasn't enough to blame

Aeolian whim or the raging riposte of Apollo,
now that we had marvelled away Gaia's

ozone skirt. Her amnion always leaked
in folkloric floods each time she birthed

a parable. She once asked Noah to build
an ark so he could ride her waves

and we scrape the sky to impale her
in shards where her womb is soft and yielding,

as we sour the air and burn the water and strip
her of her emerald sigh and melt her hills

and silt her wetlands. Mostly it was the asphalt
plastering her yearning that calcified her veins

and arteries, as she died slowly under our feet.
We could hardly fathom her sorrow for the tears

rolled off her torso like an oil slick
and rode far into the subway for sewers.
Hurricane Ida’s remnants created deadly havoc in Pennsylvania, New Jersey and New York days after the system hit the Gulf Coast — some 1,000 miles away (npr.org) I composed this poem in the aftermath. Read further at my blog. Originally published at http://davinasolomon.org on September 4, 2021.
S Aug 2021
While I stood there-
I swore I saw you sitting, waiting too,
but you had long hair (which would be strange, even for you)-
And when you did passes by I realized that it wasn’t you-
But oh-
did I wish it was you.
Austin Reed Sep 2020
Autumn air;
How you steady me.

Dewy overcast;
Where have you hid the sun?

Swayful trees;
I bought this sweater for you.

Mirrored puddle;
You can’t fool these boots.

Crowding pigeons;
Find your own bagel!

Taxi driver,
Over here! Hey! Over here!
Mitch Prax Jul 2020
NY
I love you
louder than
the city that never sleeps.
New York,
it's got nothing on us,
baby.
In Sonya's
superfluous court
this decision
there stunk
and she's
given stellar
away to
see theirs  
bleed in
a vacuum
of pride
as her
coat was
died blue
in a
vehicular suicide
of labyrinth.
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