Too hot.
outside.
Fry egg,
sidewalk.
Big hawk,
dry mouth.
Yes rains
coming.
How hot,
too hot.
Fall is,
waiting.
Hooray!!!
Just a crack in the ground,
a pavement laid unevenly,
But let her tell it the world has failed her.
She is the sun so bright and
warm never expecting anything in return,
gives to all without prejudice,
never once worrying
about her own energy–she trips.
.
.
.
Just for a second
she wonders,
Why couldn't the world show
her the same kindness?
Cool street breath
Presses on him as he curls beneath the bridge again
Mind Flickers
Bright scraps he can’t hold…slipping off like ash in rain
Still he collects
Every stray spark slicing through the static
Hoping one
May burn long enough to start him over
When summer sizzles energy fizzles
you can fry an egg on the sidewalk
New York city cooks like a griddle
it's too hot to make small talk
there's a place I know where you can find me
it don't cost a dime come on up and join me
when midday swelters pavement's melting
yellow taxi cabs gasp for breath
it's so hot my brain feels like popping
even my shadow starts to sweat
if the Jersey Shore's not your scene
can't take the crowds come on up and join me
got my sounds got my shades
got my cooler got it made
I could use a little help with my suntan lotion
so tell me who needs an ocean
up on Tar Beach overlooking city streets
Tar Beach leave your cares below
if you want to beat the heat
Tar Beach NYC is where we you an' me
Tar Beach is where we can go
Living on the street is dying on the street,
Slowly burning out, no grave, no last goodbye.
It is learning cold by its real first name,
The one that bites the bones and speaks to the seasons.
It is counting hours in crushed cigarette butts,
Reading the future in shuttered shop windows,
Sleeping with fear as your only blanket,
And mistaking dawn for an open wound.
Night whispers there, but strikes very hard,
Stealing dreams and putting makeup on death.
Hurrying footsteps turn into silences,
Eyes slide away, avoiding existence.
You become scenery, an authorized shadow,
A body tolerated in the corner of the sidewalk.
The world goes by, untouched, clean, prosperous,
And you remain there, fading into black.
Living on the street is dying without witnesses,
With hope punctured between two mornings.
It is surviving on your feet while the soul sits down,
And learning that dignity must be improvised.
But sometimes, deep in a fractured breath,
A spark insists on not letting go.
It still cries out, fragile and stubborn:
As long as I breathe, I am not entirely lost.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
cracks map forgotten rivers: tar-black seams~
occasionally, one splits into a canyon.
hot asphalt breathes tar-scented hymns
while bus brakes screech the chorus line.
pigeon’s sudden backheel scatters scraps.
ants haul crumbs like miniature sherpas.
a dropped coin rolls, gutter bound.
discarded receipt whirls, a brief and weightless ghost.
above, glass giants hold the sky’s reflection—
my eyes stay earthbound, counting
the braille of footsteps left behind.
my shadow stretches, thin as doubt at noon.
here, gravity feels optional.
I walk. I ponder.
The pavement in front of great-great grandmother's
house has become pitted, scarred and worn away
from the feet of young ones, sisters and brothers,
making their way for the next overnight stay;
they never were shy to race one another
to be first through the door for a hug most gay~
today the house has been sold, sidewalk repaired,
still that old pavement held memories well shared..
Witness on the sidewalk,
lives defending life,
some youth, some middle age,
and elderly.
Praying out loud or silently,
God hears them and
He blesses them defending
His unborn lambs.
I would stand there too in
front of the abortion clinic,
til arthritis made it difficult.
We faced much hostility,
we were cursed at,
some threatened,
nationally and in other
countries,
some of us physically assaulted.
But no matter where we are-
our prolife prayers will not be
struck down,
witness on the sidewalk,
lives defending life. ~
in
crack the sidewalk
nature's determination
~ city garden blooms
AP: 1st place 2026, 1st place 2026, Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on June 25, 2025 for contest SHAPED HAIKU sponsored by JCB Brul - Honorable Mention
How steady the merciless raindrop falls,
Could they be the fragments of my soul?
Wept from the mournful clouds, my mind.
Watering the diseased flowers, my body.
Yet my heart lingers, in the void of life,
No passenger walking by the sidewalk,
Can ease the fractured throne of love,
No love for life, no life for hope, no beats,
Why should a man overdo his stay?
Crime wave, crime pays
Crime goes on all day
But its not a crime to
feel the way i feel
Say the things I say
I stole your bike
cause had built in getaway
I stole your wife bewcause
She said she wasnt
into it anyways
I dont know why Im so
Worried about it.
God knows the world
Servbes me cold
So I sent your wife
riding your bike righ
Back into your life
Right back to you
that
Right here in the situation
Right here in the clench
Jammed up in the bottleneck
Right here in the strategic conversation
Youre complete dissertation
Your doctorites thesis
On masterbation
You otta check
Direct deposit your
Thoughts through
your hollow neck
If you check what I bought
You know
That its time that
Its time to inspect
Sidewalk flowers release their energy
To bloom and show off their fragrance
Looking at flowers I feel unbelievably healthy
The colors are always bright
I love life more so lovely
Love and wish you happiness and success.
Horror and dreadful cheers,
Forgetting absurdity,
Haunted by untold fears.
Tango with monsters & ghosts,
Guilty Pleasure, thus fits.
Revenants; our revered hosts.
Dreaming on the dark side,
With nightmares as close mates,
Intoxicated high tide.
There, a River overflows,
Falling the sidewalk's tears,
Whole Sunset Boulevard froze.
Aloft, the people of night,
All sky seats are sold out.
'trick or treat?'
The kids shout.
Gone by the fantasy phase,
A leaf in the wind sways,
Another Halloween lays.
Is it the leaves under your feet ...
The rusted gate amid the fence ...
Scratching, scraping across the street
Or something one would call nonsense
The rusted gate amid the fence ...
An elm tree clawing at a shutter ...
Or something one would call nonsense
A word one would not dare utter
An elm tree clawing at a shutter
The wind whispering in the dark,
A word one would not dare utter ...
Could be something mundane and stark
The wind whispering in the dark ...
In the distance a shrieking howl ...
Could be something mundane and stark
Could be another something foul
In the distance a shrieking howl ...
Scratching, scraping across the street
Could be another something foul
... Is it the leaves under your feet?
Random woman suddenly came to me to ask to zip her dress.
Weeks ago another woman had complimented my chest.
May be signs I need a black woman to fall in love with.
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