Big stones, rig stones
Calling out to dig stones
Round stones, pound stones
Sitting on the ground stones
Small stones, wall stones
Make you trip and fall stones
Grey stones, play stones
Lying in the way stones
Black stones, stack stones
Ready for attack stones
Bright stones, white stones
Feeling very light stones
Red stones, headstones
Under your feet tread stones
Two stones, blue stones
Teaching how to hew stones
Limestones, slime stones
Weathering all time stones
Sandstones, grand stones
Spread out on the land stones
Brownstones, crown stones
You can break them down stones
Bloodstones, stud stones
Flowing with the flood stones
Brimstones, gemstones,
Shining diadem stones
Rough stones, tough stones
There are not enough stones
Grindstones, lined stones
Everywhere you find stones
08.10.2021
NA in "Stones" contest
judged on 08.14.2021
For Constance La France's "August 2021 NA's" contest
Categories:
brownstones, fun, word play,
Form: List
in the far corner
of a local pub
in a narrow passageway
between once-stately brownstones
in an abandoned shack
midst a darkling woods
there breathe
secrets of
quiet folk
Categories:
brownstones, people, silence,
Form: Imagism
You'd hear them every morning
Like a band of baritones
The echoes of the horseshoes
Clacking, on the cobblestones
Each huckster with a wagon
Pulled behind a blindered roan
Parading back and forth between
The rows of old brownstones
One would have fresh vegetables
And one would have fresh fruits
Another might have leather goods
Like saddles, shoes or boots
From furniture to pots and pans
Each peddler resolute
But if you looked then walked away
They'd follow in pursuit
Some just made deliveries
Likes eggs, or milk, or ice
Regardless of their service
Each one friendly, each one nice
Though some might have a gimmick
Like a special, to entice
If you had bought from them before
They might just drop their price.
By Daniel Turner
Categories:
brownstones, nostalgia,
Form: Rhyme
Summer Evening
Ideas come to life
As I arrive at the small Brooklyn music parlor.
She looks deep in my eyes
Softly telling me about her day.
Conversations turn to a whisper
As the cello and violin prepare.
Gentle music is performed;
I close my eyes to see.
The departure walks down
A long straight tree-lined block.
Brownstones quietly reflecting
The warm summer moonlight breeze.
from the published collection of love poetry The Brooklyn Sunflower by author
Patrick Edward Tarpey. Learn more about The Brooklyn Sunflower at patrickedwardtarpey.com
Categories:
brownstones, love,
Form: Free verse
Black girls mollycoddle,
dandle cranky babies;
some cradled on arm and hip,
some hustled along
on low-riding wheels.
Brown men lounge outside bodega’s,
some soft-soap, play imaginary guitars,
some flash smiles at the slackening sun,
dare it to glitz elsewhere.
White girls sit on the steep stoops
bare knees out and breezing,
smoke with dreamy eyes,
pass comments that time-bomb tick.
From high wires
pigeons rubberneck like parakeets.
Thin city winds dodge washing lines.
Blouses and dresses
grip their hamstrung trapezes.
Black backyard mechanics
lean over engine blocks,
imagine curvy garbs air-dancing,
blown outward from street grates
slow billowed from vents.
The brownstones take a knee,
sweat breaks over rooftops.
A scurry of hands snatch
rumbling city transports
that beep ways to late shifts.
Those that ply less punched-out trades
slip into hankering gaps,
alleys, half-way loitering’s
that flicker into sight
juiced by the scatter and clatter
of pigeon wings.
Categories:
brownstones, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Brownstones bathed in light
ivy on wrought iron rails
flowers welcome friends
Categories:
brownstones, flower, home, urban,
Form: Haiku
Five brownstones lined up on the corner
Have been there a hundred plus years
Until demolition equipment
Knocked them down, once they got the “all clears.”
The tenants had somehow departed,
Perhaps with a buyout of cash.
I wonder if they were there watching
The bulldozers hammer and smash.
The neighborhood’s losing its status
And certainly lots of its charm.
Replacing those brownstones with towers
Is surely a cause for alarm.
We’re squandering history’s treasures
And also big chunks of the sky,
For greedy developers hover
And space is in dwindling supply.
I mourn all the relics we’re missing
For with every toppling of bricks,
The city succumbs to the sameness
Of others, just part of the mix.
Categories:
brownstones, new york,
Form: Rhyme
Along the curb, brownstones stand silently
Once proud facades diminished by time
Peeling sashes peer from weathered faces
Granite steps bowed neath the tread of generations
Where once a family lived now dwell many
Colors collide, cultures blend, new tomorrows bloom
United in a dream of new horizons
Believing in the promise of our land
Signs and billboards vie for our attention
Calling to the minions as they pass
Designed to take possession of our eye
Bold attempts to influence the mind
Aromas from the street invade the senses
Vendors with their carts, hock their wares
Shops, aligned in rows, seduce the buyer
Everywhere, a sea of yellow vans
The city, without pretense, stands before you
Behind it's arrogance, a softer side abides
Daring you to listen to it's heart
Embracing you until it owns your soul
New York City
Any Morning
Categories:
brownstones, places, urban,
Form: Free verse
I passed some brownstones on my walk
All set for Halloween,
And several had the scariest
Displays I’ve ever seen:
Evil-looking monsters,
Webs with spiders, huge and black;
Zombies looking like they’d love
To leap out and attack.
A ghostly bride with tattered gown,
A clown with moving eyes;
And ghouls and vampires waiting
For some souls to terrorize.
This wasn’t friendly child décor
But really scary stuff.
I think a smiling ghost and pumpkin
Might have been enough.
The obvious intention, though,
Was doubtlessly, to shock.
At night, I know that I would hate
To walk down such a block.
I miss the Halloween of old
And wish we could go back
To a time we’d have a little scare
And not a heart attack!
Categories:
brownstones, holiday, introspection, halloween,
Form: Rhyme
Sunday afternoon
The cares of the week have lost their edge
The pace is manageable
Sunday papers read from cover to cover
Times sprawled on the couch
Daily News in the kitchen
Nearby empty breakfast dishes.
A quiet wistfulness steals over Sunday
As afternoon turns to evening
People out walking dogs
Strolling home
Running along the river
Everyone trying to make twilight last a little longer
The ever present sirens
Sound melancholy
Couples reluctantly say goodbye
Parting at street corners and brownstones
A man helps a woman into a cab
And watches it pull away
On a late Sunday afternoon.
Young lovers
Wait in a subway
He holds her close
She holds him tighter
As her train rushes by
She is not surprised
Nor is she angry
Because she knows he wants to see her again.
Categories:
brownstones, life
Form: Narrative
No three-piece suits
No conformity
New ideas
Feared by the norm
Given room to grow
Not held down by rules
Freed by those who fight the mainstream
People who want to be an us
Rather than part of the them
Artists, actors
Poets, writers
Singers and dancers
Together in old brownstones
Candles for light
Little to eat
No money to pay the bills
Yet they create
On the steps and on every street corner
Songs playing late into the night
Guitars and makeshift drums
Vocals match the primitive beats
Poets and writers sit alone in their rooms
Hiding in little light they stare into space
Dreaming of the next word
Trying to find the perfect line
Artists look into a world of brick and concrete
Seeing beauty in what others cannot see
The flower on the curb
Beautifully alive
Bright colors
Reds, blues and golds
Become a painting few will ever see
They do not create for money
There will be none
They do not create for fame
That will come long after they are gone
They create for inner peace
Words, colors and sounds
Soothe them
Calm them
They can forget the problems of the world
And share a promised land
Viva la vie Boheme
Categories:
brownstones, art, imagination
Form: Free verse