If I could sketch or, paint or, Build impressive sculptures, My poetry would be in those. I mean to say, poetry would Be superfluous for me if I had Those other media to express My vision of my world. I only Have words. And I am grateful. I observe and put it all in my Words. Little thoughts or Hey What's the big idea? crop up.
Often they stay around and I Can use them to build and Shape what I have seen or Done so you can feel it too. I am sharing the bits and The scenes, the drama or The ordinary but beneath It and out of all that is the Sensation, the emotion, the Wanting and the having of It all. Of the whole world.
My process, such as it is, has been to let inspiration lead me to a blog draft. There I tweak and rewrite, add flourishes and post an image. I hit publish and share my newly molded words with you, kind and gentle reader.
To meet the criteria for submission, I had to hold back. Rules are rules and the New Yorker accepts only original creations.
My trigger finger may have itched to advance to a self-published state but I mustn’t.
The quartet I created for this project was for the editors’ eyes only. We’ll hear back in maybe 6 months. In the meantime, there’s a large body of work on one or the other of my blog sites that was created like the sample above just for you.
P.S. I am setting aside 5 more poems for another submission to the magazine I love. And working on some poetry to post and share now.
I am reminded of Times I envy and Events I enjoy in Retrospect more Or less than at the Time. I need to hold My memories and Check my experience Against a barometer Other than time Passing or time past. I am reminded of What I recall and That which slowly Has changed, or Stayed the same as Ever no matter the Passing of time. My Time or ours. Point Of view marks the Difference in how We see the past. It's A new perspective When it's yours than When it is mine.
Aren’t Great Danes just… great?This one looks smaller than Parkable does. Could be the color. Maybe not bigger than the little black car!
Parting thought for this morning: if the Yankees are so invincible, how come they never win anymore? This random ramble courtesy of a conversation with a Philly fan who was just happy they made it as far as they did!
We’re an opportunistic people, we New Yorkers. 79th going east off 1st was closed for emergency vehicles on Marathon Day.
It became a playground. These boys throwing a football and the kids playing tag around NYPD trucks took hold of a great big play street.
Over 50 years of living on the starboard side of NYC’s Marathon has given 50 years of griping.
This year it felt cozy. I remembered the occasion and planned accordingly. I made my last foray to west First Avenue on Sat. evening; let them shut it off as early as 10am and the stragglers trail in late into the night.
Halloween provided the opportunity and these little horror decorators rose to the occasion. I am sure that after having worked this hard, they’d rather just wait for happenstance to take these down.
Truthfully, it’s hard to judge when a season is a late arrival. Weather spikes all over the place these days.
I’ve been noting that there was a preponderance of yellow leaves which, and yes, they are beautiful, are the weaker foliage of the Fall. My conclusion today? Reds are just late to the party. At least for me the first week of November for “peak” colors just peeking out appears late.
To me, this is the highway To heaven, spread out so You have to jump from one To the other like jumping Over stepping stones, or in Tight, marking an ephemeral Pathway, built of clouds and Leading overhead, skyward. Just as we imagine a heavenly Roadway to guide us, upward Towards our better or even Our best selves, this is the Highway to heaven. We need Search, nor yearn, no more
Spirited activity is good for body [of course] and soul [incidentally.] It comes in many formats, from just good old aerobics or push-ups & pull downs to spins on a bike, either across town or staying in place -to mention just a few.
The talented can hit tennis balls over the net or affect the butterfly stroke. The choices are wide and high. The idea is to keep moving.
Is this something new? Can’t walk your dog without stopping to give him a treat? Not something I remember from my days on a leash. Maybe that was why my pooch dragged me the last 400 yards to the supermarket.
We are so lucky to have a bee-line view to Central Park’s festivities. It’s the Friday before the Marathon and fireworks were in order.
Yellow appears, now just Blanketing the crown of The tree like the white Covers my crown; soon the Yellow leaves will overrun The green and then drop As the temperature does
All The Best 