at the mouth of the city

can you imagine it 

the world stops spinning

loud music simmers slow,

ice of a hard winter melts;

soft rain arrives

quiet and unannounced

we lay down our warring words,

set aside the practiced rhetoric.

streets remember safety 

calm descends

a river's mouth curling in

we breathe the cool air in

what was fogged lifts, clears

we are flowers

thorns

weeds

rolling down the sidewalk

it doesn’t matter

you have to imagine this-

strangers, briefly kindred,

visible amid a polar-vexed skyline,

walking

crossing streets

without flinching

for once

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight.  Inspired by the poem, Proof,  By Cornelius Eady, and with the line, You have to imagine it.   See you at 3pm EST.

mind the gap

i step into the subway train

as the wheels grind & groan

the comfort of routine descend

from passing buildings & trees

my thoughts wander

wayward as dandelion fluffs

over the skyway of cars

over bridges of street art & protests 

this space is unbothered by time

this dark tunnel is a fog of poems

this window overlooks gravity

& spots a majestic bird of prey flying

carrying me

over faceless passengers glued to screens 

& hurried texts & to-do-lists-

how far do I go?

what unknown stops await me?

my eyes rest on the valley of blue

where the lake calms & cajoles

a murmuration of birds 

until a whistle breaks

rudely intrudes my train of thoughts

my subway stop is here,

my seat is cold metal & plastic

my backpack weighs a ton

mind the gap (subway sign)

footsteps & faces crowd in

the city, whose clock hurries by

                                        Rick Amor (Australian) “The Agent,” 2019 Oil on canvas 81 x 117 cm

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry in Liminal Spaces, hosted by Dora.  Thanks for the visits and comments.

Sounds

There is an itch in my throat

Dry cough, ugh,ugh,ugh

Bubbles up my cheeks

I gulp it down with water

Trying not embarrass myself

In an open space office with cubicles

All around me, the office buzzes

of tapping of keys and busy fingers, 

Snapping of headphones

I catch snippets of small & serious talk

This is nothing compared to

the summer construction outside-

Snarling buzzing of equipments

Clanging chinging of metal on metal

Whizzing of sand & dust & pollen

Screeching brakes of trucks

Beeping horns from impatient drivers

The city is a hive of buzzing energy

I sigh

At the end of the work day

After being enveloped in 

The chug-chug-grating of train wheels

I step into the garden

Splattered with light and flowers

Chirp-chirp goes the birds

Zip-zoom for the bees

Ringing laugher of children from the park

Humming, tinkling from trees & leaves

My plants are greening & grinning

It is a good summer day

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- MTB by host Bjorn Rudberg, where we are incorporating sounds in our poem, Onamatopoeia.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thank you for your comments and visits.

the building (land acknowledgement)

you moonwalk out of the building

whose wall tiles are blue-etched in history

giant banners follow the marbled columns 

as you stand to witness sunset throbs 

in glorious colors, washing 

large window frames with ecru & peach tints

beneath black suit

how sober cold you hold yourself

refracted by city neon lights- 

you belong here yet not quite from the tilt of your head-

on cobbled steps, you marvel the carvings

and gothic shape of the building 

and hearing the folklore rising from the relics

and feeling its hot breath on your skin-

maybe it will take another decade or two

of walking & inhaling the sun-baked streets

to feel connected to the ancient land the building

stands after hearing the land acknowledgement

for now, you just want to respect 

the ties that bind us all under the eyes

of the ever-steady moon-

for now, you just want nothing more than be hurled

to the sky, star-wrinkled

glinting of mysteries, stirring in you an ocean of awe

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Hosted by Kim Russell.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

This is an example of a land acknowledgement:  

Land Acknowledgement for Toronto

We acknowledge the land we are meeting on is the traditional territory of many nations including the Mississaugas of the Credit, the Anishnabeg, the Chippewa, the Haudenosaunee and the Wendat peoples and is now home to many diverse First Nations, Inuit and Métis peoples. We also acknowledge that Toronto is covered by Treaty 13 with the Mississaugas of the Credit.

the beats of the city

this city is a chameleon

one day, it is silver granite with shiny buildings

one summer dusk, it is festive & noisy with tourist buses

one October night, it is artsy, soulful with balloons & stage lights

one winter night, it is pristine snow & mud, booming with silence

 

blue-draped by Lake Ontario

this is an entry port for immigrants, 

a nook to find one's space & voice

a stairway to higher ambitions & studies

yet this city can be a deathbed

indifferent to the calluses of one's labor

a rusty knife to those needled arms

hazy with alchohol addiction

a bitter soup to the lost & homeless prowling

the train stations for coins

for all that it is, colorful & flavorful 

a blend of many cultures & languages

a peaceful bounty to the endless flow of refugees-

it is a steady rock

to the hopefuls-

this city is filled with second & third chances-

there is redemption 

that is, if you didn't knock yourself out

in the first round

-accept the gifts of failures & learn from it-

over time

for me, this city becomes a boat 

laden with coats, blankets, music sheets, silk

& spices from all over the world-

you ride along its sails

& draw & redraw your own map

& when you are sick of the city lights,

there is a road up north, filled with apple trees

-perfect for star-gazing-

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics:  Allen Ginsberg and The Beat Generation, Hosted by Sanaa Rizvi.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

Tea at 5:00 pm

 

i leave this familiar abode

in the morning, time moving fast-

the train

noisily chugging across tracks 

behind city streets, underground

tunnels

in the dim lights, my mind wanders

to summer nights when blue rules - sky 

and lake -

slow the sunset tides, slow the burn 

of sands & fading music - bell

rings - stop! -

her fingers are now tapping time-

billable hours, accounting

minutes-

she becomes the clock in the room

tallying with her purse until 

it's time

to head west, passing by strangers-

time moves slow as a sweeper's broom

slow as 

stitched tulip.  trees are calling.  house

is warm tea, inviting.   i meet-

myself

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry Form is Synchronicity.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

watch

 

he walks with his wounds

underneath his jacket, protesting

words on placard, his voice

a war song in the streets

above the din, old tower bell 

chimes 

clock wound tight

as wings of departing birds 

echo

tides of moon

i keep a storm watch

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, hosted by Lillian.  This is a 44 word post with the chosen word - Wound.  Thanks for the comments & visits.

catching my silhouette

a black hawk

hunches inside of me

subway train grinds, 
moving the city 
in same direction
to east/west
then south/north

actually, the animal 

may be a giant whale

heaving one deep exhale

-who0000oosh-

overhead, perched on buildings 
are pigeons and gulls
scavenging scraps of bread
mirroring city folks, 
whose bodies move clock-
wise, counter clock-
wise

i listen

-hummmm-

of bees & hummingbirds

to murmuration of starlings

carrying me

to feet of wild forest 

to towering hair of willow tree

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetic Hum hosted by Gina.  I am always striving to hear my poetic hum above the noise of the city and my hectic work life.

The challenge:

What is the poetic hum in your life? What hums in the background of your life that inspires you as you unconsciously listen while you work and live? Is the drone always there or do you have to cultivate the inspiration?

a man asks for directions

he is seated across me
         in subway train

in white jacket and pants
         he is lost cat
standing out
in sea of black and grey winter outfits

the woman beside him
         puts away her phone
gestures animatedly
         where to go, what bus to take, etc

her hands are whirling dandelions
her face is a lighthouse

the man leans in, 
        listening intently, clarifying information
he is pleased with the conversation

so much so 
that he bows his head slightly
        smiling delightfully
as he slides out of subway doors
        elegantly as a swan

his hand is holding a corsage 
his face is first day of spring dance 




Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Thanks for the visit.

(what music was this_train ride)

everyone else would mute 
     or numb their faces & bodies
     still as snow full moon
     while listening to music
     in their headphones

but not you
     you fold your arms 
     crosswise upon your chest
     thumping in synch with your heartbeat
     your fingers light as air

if only you could
     strip away your heavy
     drab 
     winter coat & boots
     & sing it
     sing   
     with butterfly wings



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Hosted by Lillian.  Thanks for the visit. 

at the mall

a young man sits beside my table
          in food court, without ordering
          just twirling & examining his 
hands, as if he is reading
          private letter, sacred
          to himself
          while everyone else eyes are glued 
          to their phones

i think of delicate glass
          bubbling underneath
i think of colors swirling on canvas
          as his hands clasp, unclasp & fall
raindrops
on sea of screens & french 
           fries & plastic 
           cups

he leaves quietly
          nonchalantly, one last look
          (before disappearing with the rolling crowd)
eyes       
          of lost bird



Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Thanks for the visit.