There may have been neighborhoods
with green lawns, playgrounds, and ballfields
a short walk from houses with enough
bedrooms for everyone.
Houses that stood apart from one another,
so owners could park cars in garages
set towards the back and then walk on paved
walkway to back doors leading to kitchens
with modern appliances,
but I live with five others in a three-bedroom
six-room railroad room apartment fourth floor
walk-up in a six-story row tenement house
on a block with twelve other buildings,
exactly the same.
Built-in the late eighteen or early
nineteen hundreds.
Buildings riddled with cracked walls,
leaking ceilings, stuck windows,
overflowing toilets, mice, and roaches
that were there to stay, with garbage cans
'most missing covers' in alleyways
that rats owned after dark, leading, to.
Courtyards with ‘No Loitering’ signs posted,
where we played hopscotch, hit the stick,
marbles, red light green light one two three.
Where Valerie’s mom jumped into from
the roof to.
That summer’s day my mother said that
‘we were moving’.
Brooklyn
Salt beef with onion
sandwiches.
Goat cheese made
near the wailing wall
The waiter
is a scientist.
Intelligent eyes
behind thick-lensed glasses
do not dare to leave a tip.
The burden of my ancestors
weighed heavy on my mind.
The chicken soup was excellent
I shan´t return
Before
Palestine is a sovereign state
A single blue bird perched above the rest
Not all birds of a feather flocked together;
Each mount with reverence brought comfort much closer,
Time's passages once feared, held a single test.
The test of a life time suited and disguised,
The unknown harbors lessons to be learned
Solitary souls do find their way home -
I have seen shriveled dead folks holding to life.
Freedom becomes imposter in our dreams
Of carefree years. Yet love looms much larger still;
Like skylight, and rain song, that will cure those ill -
I think of matriarchs striving to stay clean.
Spring became green and grand with its gifting
A soundless tear drop in silence of winter,
A broken voice reaching out to its Maker,
My rebirth room left light and fresh as its giving.
*
Brooklyn Cyclone number nine
Is not ready to decline
Clipity clop it climbs
Into the blue sky where the sun shines
Until it turns orange while enjoying evening wine
There is magic in the air
Summer loving with the one who cares
Flashing lights all around
Tradition of a rural community fairground
Instead this is on an island
Architectural feats worth admiring
Outside the big city
That never accepted any pity
National League remembers the past
Mets audition potential players to cast
As all the cotton candy melts
Everyone with a hot dog can’t tighten their belts
In the middle to a season
Enjoying weather supposedly pleasing
Where relaxation is the reason
Cousin Brucie
Has rocking facts that are juicy
About that Palisades Park
That was a long trip for the late Dick Clark
Brooklyn Cyclone number nine
Takes the big drop right on time
Screams are heard
By the flying birds
Down on the beach
Where NYC is in reach
A Mango Tree In Brooklyn
A mango is not only a fruit it’s an island
An image of memories, it organic taste
This represents the first bite to the last:
Tracing back to its originality,
Tropical warmth, which smooths the lips
The sweet, succulent taste is noticeable:
Somehow, the roots refuse to grow
In Brooklyn, amount the sandy earth
Where the suffering continues,
A mango tree will never rooted in Brooklyn.
The soil is useless and barren,
Seized with an impotent anger
Where the death toll rises daily
The former home of the Brooklyn Dodgers lives on!
Some of my loved ones still live there
Brooklyn has some things going for it
Such as the great Brooklyn Museum
and the Botanical Gardens
Coney Island is unique
And the borough has the Brooklyn Cyclones team
and the Brooklyn Nets
basketball team
Famous people have called the place home
millions of many different
backgrouds who now call the borough
home
There has been strife there
but the future looks
sunny
for those whose eyes, minds and hearts
experience the ambiance of the place
Brooklyn faces the futue
with great anticipation
Window viewing a wall
knows no world other than
brick square against nothing;
laundry blows in the yellow
tinged wind. Flaps mimic
birds flying. Bras trapped by
wooden pins, splintering. Grey
points piercing smoldering
dust and fiber on its way
to the refuse below. A push
from an unseen hot whisper
of foul breath smashes it
into a window viewing a wall.
tired, chain driven trucks
coal pouring into basements
ice up five long flights
White ...
frost-clad
cabled vaults -
join thoughts to sky ...
my city slumbers 'neath its cloak of snow.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Make It Five" Poetry Contest, Joseph May, Judge & Sponsor.
( Syllables = 1, 2, 3, 4, 10 - counted at HowManySyllables.com )
White
Winter
Comes with snow—
Traffic’s banished,
As wind plays the Bridge like a theremin.
September 23, 2019
It's
snowing
on the bridge
this winter day
with a pathway of awe inspiring drifts
__________________________
September 20, 2019
Poetry/Tetractys/Brooklyn Bridge in Winter
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1182-583-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Make it Five
sponsor, Joseph May, Inspiration image #2
First Place
Brooklyn Bridge
New York and the Boros
Brooklyn Bridge
Last night I attended
a reading in Brooklyn
There were plenty
of poets - two guitar players
and a flute player
Brooklyn has some culture!
I read a poem where I mentioned
hookers and dope
Some people may have been upset by that
But I WILL SPEAK MY MIND
The TV shows
wars and scandal
with big faces
moving lips
running words
on every wall
while disc jockeys threaten
bad traffic and weather
through the ceiling.
I slurp my omelet’s florescent cheese
that strings from mouth to plate,
slug my coffee
and try to catch the waiter’s fast glance
before the street cleaner comes
loaded guns
spinning down the block.
I hear a buzz from my purse.
Someone I’ve never met
wants to know, “What’s up?”
My soul’s reply: “WTF?”
April 18, 2017
for Landscape and Towns Poetry Contest
So I will miss
the party I
was invited to
and must stay
inside due to the
snowstorm outside
Luckily I have
a pen and paper
to write an ode or two
Escaping or perhaps enhancing
reality
I write odes of Brooklyn and far away lands
Cold outside - warm inside
The snow is falling like crazy
and piling up on the ground
world of white
outside my window
Mother Nature has not forgotten us
She brings us beauty and terror
until such time we can conquer her
She is an enemy and sometimes a fine friend
The white particles continue to fall
Related Poems