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.

morning commuter

he was earth-skinned and sky-scarred

with his dark brown jacket, black beanie,

dark jeans and black shoes

he got in the transit train to Toronto & stood

with left hand cupping his ear, conversing about

rides, station stops for the entire 30 minutes ride

was he talking to God?

because his jacket elbows & sleeves were

frayed & tattered, as well as his jeans & worn shoes

his fingers keep pointing to the train subway

map, marking his destination to the west, further

than my stop.   he did not sit down but stood pacing

and talking by the exit doors.   his voice - 

a lost wind, a lone bird without a flock -

swearing & mocking to the invisible party

was he talking to God?

because his hands were empty

because his pockets were empty

his eyes, the black sun

or was it a black pearl?   or was it my

eyes reflecting back, wanting daylight to arrive

& banish the darkness from the tall stranger

 The False Mirror by Rene Magritte

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

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.

i am

the word & phrase you write in every poem
the pathway, streets and city you live since you were born
the plate, cup, brew, spice, food you eat 
the hat, purse, coat, shirt, shoes that you wear
the wheel, hub, spokes, transmission that you ride
the book & tenets you read at night

the only key in your pocket
you carry wherever you go
not pricky, not heavy, not strange
just comfortable weight in your hands & eyes

i would have love to peek at other people's windows
& admire their paintings, chairs, photos, bookshelves
but alas 
i remain
your blind spot




Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- OpenLinkNight - Hosted by Bjorn Rudberg.  Please join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.   dVerese will be in summer hiatus and will come back on July 13, 2020.   Thanks for your visits and comments.

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.

Soul Sister - Mississauga City

Cherry Blossoms, 2017

Centennial Park, Mississauga City

The air is fresh and thick
of maple, oak, aspen and birch trees
along Credit River
towards blue Lake Ontario
Bottle up this city's musk
It is invigorating

From the smell of maple syrup
to India's spices, curry & bread
to Italy's fresh tomatoes and pasta
to Mexico's burritos and tacos
to Jamaica's jerk chicken & beans
to France's crepes and macaroons
to Japanese sushi and English's fish
and chips
Plus thousand more dishes

From faraway countries,
This city is a big basket weaved by
different colors of the world's hands-
Though young (as of 1974)
This city commands limelight -
It is Canada's 6th largest city -

Ring the giant bell
in Kariya Park -
We are the city of friendship
with Japan-
Here cherry blooming trees
pinks the park, 
radiant as morning sun

Bring your bike or hiking shoes
Along the reclaimed forest area
We'll refresh our souls
while listening to birds, fish and chasing
small wild creatures
innocent as children's laughter in parks-

Beside giant malls, offices
and Marilyn-Monroe shaped
condo buildings in downtown city-
This city flames with energy 
Sprawling with modern
roads for trains and bus terminals

Beside Toronto City,
Mississauga is a big sister
with trillium flowers on her hair
and that smile - 

                                Welcome!

Note:  The Mississauga are a subtribe of the Anishinaabe-speaking First Nations people located in southern Ontario, Canada. They are closely related to the Ojibwe. The name "Mississauga" comes from the Anishinaabe word Misi-zaagiing, meaning "[Those at the] Great River-mouth." It closely related to the Ojibwe word Misswezahging, which means ‘a river with many outlets.’

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Hosted by Jilly about Urban Renewal.   What is your city? Mine is Mississauga, my home for the last 13 years.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

The city by the Great River's mouth

I am yellow 
sparkling lights &
scribbling daring words

on turrets, 
walls and bridges,
bar stools and shiny mirrors 

But tonight,
instead of wine 
& trying out exotic food
& beating to samba beat

I look up
to inhale the sky's deep
mystery-  

the full moon
eclipsing my city neon signs,
car lights, highways, borders 
to one giant canvas 

unblemished as black
stones and wild wheat field
running the river's mouth 
with tide's harmony  

I wear 
the night with simple
reverence
unadorned but for the moonlight
just as it was  
with my Native Fathers

Overlooking Mississauga City, Ontario, Canada during the Supermoon October 2016

The name "Mississauga" comes from the Anishinaabe word Misi-zaagiing, meaning "[Those at the] Great River-mouth."

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Night time City Panorama ~ Hosted by Kim Russell

At back alleys & underground tunnels

"The land created me. I’m wild and lonesome. Even as I travel the cities, I’m more at home in the vacant lots."  Bob Dylan

I am your failed experiment, your outcast that you hide from the tourists who flock to see the famous CN Tower and Rogers Centre.  I am the rusty car you hide at the back alleys. The one with the unpainted doors, broken hood and dirty windows.   I etch loneliness and regrets on the graffitied walls.   Under the darkness, I hobble along city streets where every space is calculated with parking meters and silver glass towers shimmering like diamonds.  Only the penguins greet me, nibbling the breadcrumbs near my feet.  I set a stained foam cup on the sidewalk and watch the tail light of cars and buses blurring out of sight.  My liquor-breath mixes with autumn's cool wind, blowing this morning's newspapers deep to the shadows.     

A lilac maple leaf falls

on the fountain, empty of water-  
while black birds count-
perched atop electrical lines  
basking under hunter's moon

Grace@Everyday Amazing

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday Hosted by Bjorn Rudberg.   Join us when the pub opens at 3pm EST.  Thanks for the visit~

What i remind myself at night

Gastown Steam Clock

Vancouver BC

I count this day: work day
Not Tuesday nor Wednesday.

The sun hides behind the ruffled clouds.
And mustard walls, penciled with industrial carpet.

The office phone rings and I look for myself.
Someone is always pushing the buttons

In the elevators & up my cheek bones.
I am growing a thick skin & ulcer stones by the hour.

I burrow into the night. My cheque comes
every two weeks. Then disappears just as quickly

As fading keys. As rain by cruel summer.
Under the ceiling, the paint slowly peels off

In weariness. I remind myself to change the lights
to an energy saving ones. I hold into hands-

Inner & invisible- to keep my wheels
from going out of yellow lanes. To set my fires afloat.


Posted for OpenLinkNight of D'verse Poets Pub - Thanks for the visit ~

blurry images from last night

Last night, severe thunderstorm struck our city, powerless & cold.

Grace @ Everyday Amazing

                                                drop               drop               drop               drop
                                                            drip               drip                 drip               drip

                                               wires dis-connect-ed,  power waver-ed & still-ed,

                                               wind-whipped, lights falter-ed & b-linked blank-

                                               candles flicker-red as machines shut down, black 

                                               screen everywhere as water drums-beats-crashes- 

                                               rises-like the sea, sweeping trains & cars-off-roads-

                                              
                                               tick               tick                tick                 tick
                                                       tock                tock                tick                 tock           
                                               

                                               back to basics:   books & paper & cardless-
                                  
                                               strangers & neighbors exchange kindness:  car rides, 

                                               (cold) pizza boxes for dinner, buckets to scoop water

                                               from overflowed basements,  words face-to-face- 

                                               where once blurry & dis-tant, are now Up/close&personal-




Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight ~  I'm home now as power in our Toronto Office hasn't resumed yet.   Thanks for the visit ~