#centralpark
The buildings of Upper East Side swell with exhaust fumes
and the roads sweat foul-smelling tar,
while Central Park drips green and magenta,
as friends **** on strawberries
beneath the last of the summer sun.
Butterflies chase children,
children chase kites,
dodging marigolds
that suffocate between blades of grass.
Bird song and police siren compete for centre stage,
and clammy suited men seek shades of green on their lunch break
escaping their lives between midday and one.
In the sky
rafts of white cloud crafts the arrival of autumn,
the park drinks the last of September’s rays.
Maples blush as October lures in the park with a lullaby.
Once-glycerined green leaves
burned by a summer sun
form parachutes that glide
left
to
right
and spill like coloured pencil shavings.
Warm currents retreat the advancing brisk amber sunsets,
submerging the park in an oily gold blur.
Clouds, swans, boats,
all float upwards
as Autumn peacefully carries Summer to its end.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 6:30 PM UTC
Hot sun on my neck
Dandelions suffocated
By long blades of grass
Bird's song
And truck's siren
Compete for center stage
Floating clouds
Keep the light
Dappled with ease
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 1:27 PM UTC
It was a romantic evening
in the extravagant city of New York.
I'll Be Seeing You drifted throughout Central Park.
As the leaves danced in the Autumn wind,
the sun began to set beyond the towering skyscrapers.
People awed at a young woman in red
wandering a long path.
Down the road, there was a man.
He spotted her and her shimmering brilliance.
In her own little universe,
she began to twirl in her rosy dress.
Her wavy, golden hair flowed in the wind
as she laughed and smiled.
As she slowed down, she caught a glimpse of the man
and her eyes began
to shine as bright as the glistening sea.
He grinned as she spun around.
As they got closer, he opened his arms wide
and she ran in her louboutin's,
and jumped in his arms.
In that moment, everything fell into place.
She was with him and he was with her.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 2:38 PM UTC
When you get there, to the frozen apple’s core,
climb the first hill that you see. Tall one,
floored in rock a-glitter, breaching the noon frost
at the center. Horizon’s white-hot gleaming.
It’s quiet here. A flock of somethings and someones has
built these lines together. Not a barn, nor cathedral either.
The beams vibrate squirrel and chickadee. Be.
Be still in the ice, and their voices will come down
to shiver your pen across a new page.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC