Alphabet City

The dappled splay of the elms' limbs shadowed,
upon ground where millions of creatures live,
God's hand everywhere, despite you and me,
in the trees by my windows small wrens rest,
family members beyond the glass panes,
at dawn we sing together, sometimes laugh,
sympathetic trills, new melodies lilt,
their's seem to float upward, while mine fall down,
I have never heard dissonant birdsong,
the saddest of calls from the mourning dove...
odd, as I write about the mourning doves,
two appear atop my roof, their song loud,
sorrowful wails, perhaps she is pregnant,
beautiful young with potential for flight,
able to fly away, to leave it all,
yesterday leaves us tomorrow's promise,
today is just a figment of the light,
once when I had wings, I knew how to soar,
how to nest, now alone in echelon,
I bank and I yaw in the cold updraft,
in the quiet dawn that proceeds me

something is astir behind all of us

cc: CC '22

New faces in my blogroll,
Latina named Milagro,
yogis, shaman,
wannabes, she-men,
moonlight lovers, 
some poets 

Where are the old faces?
Some abandon their sites,
others the way, a bunch hang out 
on new corners

There is no J in gibberish, no G in jabberwocky,
and please, no four-dot ellipses

cc: CC '22

Photos of people long gone,
locked away in trunks,
tucked into corners of closets,
beneath eaves in the attic,
birthdays, weddings, 
days at the shore,
old sands not washed away,
sunlight captured on silver backing,
sharply focused, though I cherish 
even the blurred

I grab an old camera,
and frame the photo 
within its lens, as though
I am snapping it for 
the first time

I can hear the surf, 
smell the cake's frosting,
feel the dance floor
beneath my feet

I yell out Smile, or
Say cheese,
to no one

I cannot throw away
yesterday's photons

cc: CC '22

Sometimes I look deep into the eyes of the Other,
expend my energy, the tangible life force in a gaze,
until I feel the discomfort of recognition, that brief
flash, the bond of knowing, the surprised look
on the face across from me, the micro-expressions
lit up there, of having been seen, acknowledged,
alive

cc: CC '22

Drink plenty of water while you weep,
to replenish the body's supply

cc: CC '22

When I went away overnight,
my mom would advise to take along
an extra pair of underwear, 
in the event of either 
good or bad luck

cc: CC '22

I do so loathe the green-pea foam
that rises when you boil 'em,
I spoon it out, the emerald scum,
to clear the way for dumplin'

If by luck you have a ham hock,
throw it in the pot,
the flavor will entice you,
you'll like it...
a lot

The next day when you reheat,
do so low and slow,
stir gently, stir often,
upon fresh crusty bread
spread butter, to soften

It's OK to slurp if it's hot,
especially if you're alone,
be careful not to choke
inhaling the pork bone

Then clear your spot and
wash your plate, rinse your spoon,
sponge down the range,
it's not too late, nor too soon
to make a change

to affect a life, namely Yours, 
get out from indoors, 
from under

no more blankets overhead, 
rear up to hear the thunder

no more soupy fog, no more bump on a log,
no more kissable frog, no more gears, you cog

Hey - are your ears clogged?

A table for two would do just fine, 
double up on the peas

Please! 

How time will slow, 
you will see 
small bubbly
gather 'round the rim, 
that's when you stir 
once, cover then simmer 
for a lifetime, real low

may Your foams rise and 
always be skimmed

cc: CC '22

I gladly volunteer to be the target
for the next meteorite, to save us all 
from extinction, I promise my dust
will not hover long, no nuclear winter,
or exacerbation of the greenhouse 
effect; if it's a small piece of space debris
let it rip through me, leave a celestial hole 
in my body, like Bugs Bunny runs though 
a wall to imprint a perfect silhouette, 
a larger meteor proper, an interplanetary rock 
would simply flatten me, perhaps I'd become a black hole, 
so dense that you'd be drawn to my event horizon, 
do gladly drop in, I could put up coffee, order some
danish, bagels, and a very large one, the size of 
a minor planet, an asteroid, would create a crater about me, 
a place to visit in years to come, bring the family, 
watch the geysers spout

If I had a team, 
I would take one for it, 
but I don't
so I do
this quite selfishly, 
merely to have been *

*Ibid, Chagall, Carlos, One Life, Book LXV, Chapter V (the final footnote)

cc: CC '22

I prep produce, vegetables and fruit,
for salads and soup, atop old newsprint
 
The NY Times, the Daily News,
rarely The Wall Street Journal,
and maybe the Post, from any city

I marvel
at the events I've missed
while shucking and peeling 

Oh my God, Desmond Tutu died
the day after Christmas '21, there  among
shredded carrot it says he said if you want Peace, 
don't talk to your friends, instead talk to your enemies

In January, foreign Chinese investors had reason to be on edge,
something-something else I can't read for the smearing 
of eggplant slime upon the ink

And people dead in airplanes, and poor folks swindled,
a shooting here, a mugging there, prices up,
money down

Every page, every year,
every onion peel, orange rind, and apple seed,
everyday

cc: CC '22

Don't ever stop her
from stomping in rain puddles
again

cc: CC '22