New York New York

The New Fancy 

after an article by Joyce Cohen in The New York Times: March 26, 2017
The Hunt — Self-Employed Artists Find A Home Without Wheels

 

She a drummer
he plays guitar and acts.
They both sing
“misfit pop” tracks.

The couple rolled into NYC
in an ’82 Volkswagon camper
landing in Bedford-Stuy, Brooklyn,
rough around the edge but not cramper.

As self-employed artists they filmed
“Consumer Comments On Vegan Mayonnaise”
(cannot make this stuff up)
neither a critical success or a campy craze.

Always looking on the bright side,
they searched for an affordable rental:
750 sq. ft. in central Harlem — its windows covered
with paper, certainly to these two, nothing detrimental.

On a clear day
it’s off with the paper for plenty of light,
while the bathroom faucet growls on and off
frightening away critters throughout the night.

The water pressure is so low —
one neighboring wifi network is aptly named,
“NoWaterPressureHere,” thus insuring
urban wit and creativity, above all, take aim.

“It’s better than the wheels,” so they say
and certainly not permanent.
As artists seeking gritty New York,
now all they have to do — is pay the rent.

ag ~ 2017

 

 

Of Twilight

It’s definitely not the rum!

Awoodlandrose's Blog

Waxing Twilight

I feel the sap
rise in my body –
after all it’s Spring.
Or is it the rum
making me feel warmer
than the bedding sun
that I imagine slips away 
under the sheets
into the embrace 
of a waiting lover.

I like to think that
the moon and stars
are made of flesh 
and blood 
lust and longing.
Or is it that 
we are made
of sap and starlight
forgetting our own 
dawn and radiance.

What difference 
does it really make 
when I fall in love
so easily
anyway.

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Oh What A Wonder!

April

So much waiting to be born.
Blackberries not yet on the

bramble path, much less so
sweetening tarts and tongues.

Spring peepers chippering
moonlight — oh what a wonder to

be the pond that enjoys such a
buxom chorus. Sap waiting to

rise in rabbits and wolves  —
their winter stains bled and shed

for the next generation’s fur and
teeth. Wood violets and dandelion

laboring earth and leaf debris
— no less faithful the insects and

breezes that scatter their seeds
and gaiety. Wide vees of geese

to unzipper sky of cloud and fog,
percussing wings and wills of

summer grazing across fields,
streams and highways. Green,

pink and yellow ready to stir
northern gardens into tulips,

roses and corn. Yeast with water
and wheat rebirthing warm and

wrinkled hands — rises and yields.
Rises and yields. The soft dough

braiding Spring into Easter Bread,
Babka and Challah.

April…
so much waiting to be born.

 

AG ~ 2017

 

Stella! Stella! Stella!

I ~ Stella

The storm becomes her name.
Hey, Stella.
Or should it be Blanche?
Charm is 50% illusion.

I don’t want realism. I want magic!
Haven’t you ever ridden on that streetcar?
that bangs through the Quarter
Why, they told me to take a streetcar named Desire.

 

II ~ Nuances At Midnight

Yesterday a Spring walk.
Waking to a chiseled morning rides a wild mustang.
A dame that knows she’s good looking.
What kind of a queen do you think you are?

The real cork.
Marie Antoinette meets Blanche DuBois.
They eat cake. Where’s Stella?
She’s out there on the porch.