All The Best

What shall we have?

News from the front lines [WW I] seems to be generously represented in Le Petit Parisien.

Le Petit Parisien looks to be a rather incendiary little publication. Our new Cafe shares its name. The decor is a simple reminder of that connection. Cappuccino, as I mentioned in an earlier post, is very satisfactory.

Missing from next door since the owners posted their “Gone Surfing” notice is the friendly Bar Coastal. Fear not; a pub awaits. Plug-Uglies looks all set for business.

Speaking of bars… these “convenience stores” like High-End Puff [above] appear to be ready to satisfy weed cravings.

This ice cream parlor has chosen to be a self-styled PAC. I would amend this or ***add*** to this: Teach Your Children What That 30% Tax Covers; Remind Them They Live Rent-free and Eat.

Miscellaneous photo scenes that are not food related follow below as part of the fro and to of getting to Le Petit Parisien or Plug Uglies or High-End Puff.

Observations

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.

Poetry submissions

It was hard. I had to resist posting new work to share with you and direct it to the folks on the poetry desk at the New Yorker.

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.

Perspectives

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.

Adding on to small dogs

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!

Comes knocking

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.

A Late Fall

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.

Falling leaves

Orange or yellow leaves have been predominant this Fall.

Autumn is a lovely season with generously colored leaves gracing the crowns of trees.

Autumnal implies a weathered maturity.

It is also in the lexicon of sadness, where it suggests regrets over the changing seasons.

Before the Fall can decry an end to warm weather and revelry, it decorates our environs.

Somewhere in there, our man-made decorations creep in as we celebrate a pagan holiday.

Leaves, in pretty colors, fall to the ground, and with the nip in the air, define an end to summer.

The better way

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

Exercise

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.