Two subway train vignettes

In train crowd, there's always one firecracker
Everyone avoids like sudden gust of cold wind


Today, it's an earnest young man pleading for coins
But his speech is stump by megaphone 
announcing a derailment on northern station.


He steps out the train.   I hear distant sound
of rain flinting the concrete steps as door closes.      
 

~0~0~


She is counting, not the platform stops
but knots & turns of her crochet needle-

The red yarn is net of fishes
or stars    

It's hard to say
with her fingers trilling to a robin's song- 




Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Kerry's Challenge
& 55 Words Challenge
& Poets United

Thanks for the visit ~

Bagpiper by Queen & University Streets

At corner of street, by old courthouse
he stands in his kilt, tartan pattern & knee high socks
blowing his bagpipe as crowds cross & crunch their shoes-

above smog & din of cars & traffic lights 
his face a yellowed paper, hair delicately frail,
he spins a solemn note, hailing from old country-

The rhythm is grass & rolling hills
where wind marches with trees
& sky brimming of blue spring blooms-

Here time is slow procession-
A young man backpacking with his toddler, comes close-
Another man dragging his suitcase, listens & drops

a dollar in his open black case-
Impromptu, bagpiper switches to modern pop strains
to catch more coins & tourists ambling by- 

All too soon, sun hides behind grey clouds
Everyone hurries to & fro, tick tock of subway crowd
ear-plugged, holding Starbucks coffee or free 

metro news  in their somewhere-to-go stride- 
But for the old man
piping his lungs with city dust & crumpled bills -

Two blocks across, I turn into my building
his music now rain drop, pulled under tides
bobbing half-mingled with my breath-

perhaps a sob for the land that long disappeared - 

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Rhythm of the Road - During my lunch break yesterday, I saw this bagpipe player at the busy street corner.   He seems to be regular fixture plying the Toronto tourist-belt streets.

Photo credit:   here

Forever bicycles

Toronto's Nathan Phillips Square

3,144 bicycles by Chinese artist and activist Ai Weiwei 

Photo credit: Kanwar Sandhu

this 
is what our sky looks:   

tower of wheels, frames & gears

stacked in stainless steel & metallic paint

the smell of gas, smog & paved roads

fanning our cheeks with humid 
air 

this 
is how our city stands:

leaning forward, eyes on fast turn

of cars across super highway, one foot pressed

on gas pedal racing against the clock- by grid-

 lock, we crowd, an indistinguishable 
face-

this 
is what we have become:

mechanically pounding city streets

chasing another sale or dollar, cycle/in/cycle 

we say we're lucky we got a job but who's 

minding rice fields, fish ponds &  
forest?

sun - 
a slit behind grey clouds,

is off-center, less king in our eyes

perhaps a dying star, but we're busy taking shots of bicycles- 

no handlebars nor seats, an art statement  

or a silent protest:  is this 
progress? 

Posted for:   D'verse poets pub - OpenLinkNight - Happy Tuesday to all ~

Fishbones

My spine stiffens before the devouring:

Close eyes, feel nothing, not even disgust

Hardening becomes the norm, factor & given

Picked clean to the bones, I gather my salt

At night, weave & cast net for words & foam

By the light of harvest moon, flesh & fins quiver

There is partaking of a different kind: deep

Nourishing blood, spewing poison rotting the lungs

Artist:   Kathryn Dyche Dechario

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

Voracious

kill the palate of old habits:
fresh soup, chicken, vegetables & fruits 

scorn the fingers & hands
of crushing garlic, chopping spices & herbs

until we get used to dry chemicals 
& pills & frozen dinner rolls & thirsty

equates to sugar pop rush, not fresh water-
saturate the pan with salt & MSG until  

bellies widen with forgetting
grandma's recipes & bones turn delicate

with milk & cheese sealed in plastics-
slow & wait & reap becomes outdated for fast-

food, and on some days we're looking  
for flesh, juice, pit & seeds

ironically it will be packaged

more expensive in glossier paper & labels

someday we will be very hungry 
& not even food can fill it -

Judith Klausner via Colossal Blog

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

While eating thai food & memories

Thai Beef Satay @ Grace

her body is stooped spoon, heavy from
     deaths of husband, parents, two siblings
     dealing with autistic child now a young adult
               with violent behavioral challenges

but her eyes are clear as river
     detailing childhood toys, books, garden, games   
     snippets of conversations with cousins, names 
               & dates & years traversed like a bridge 

prayers, i keep on praying, she says
     as we look at her 1 album, covered neat & shiny,   
     i have many more pictures, she adds, 
              but its all buried in mess   

except stories of growing up in grandma's house, 
     now long gone: stones, trees, landscape of houses-  
     & as i eat my thai noodles & satay, i wonder 
             what memories my children will keep 

Posted for Poets United -  Spent Saturday afternoon in Toronto City, meeting up with hubby's cousins ~ Thanks for the visit ~

The Immigrant

  

  This city is not our city.

  This hand which scrambles

  to find the file and pen

  like seagull scrunching for food

  in theme park is not our hand.

  This street which squeezes

  houses into perfect square brownies

  is not our street.

  The hours which consumes our day

  in the work factory and stores,

  are not our lives.

  This train ride is not our journey.

  Nor the food we buy in the cafes

  our nourishment, the bread that

  fills our hunger and wine that fires

  our blood like autumn burst

  in the morning dawn, scorching the

  trees of russet skein and golden honey.

  This sound from the radio is not
  my music. My mother’s music
  is raw & pierces my skin.
  This smog, garbage & decay-
  I do not own them.
  I eat, I work, I spend
  and put my aches in Ziploc bags.
  Every day, I trudge back to
  this roof and thin walls but this
  is not my home.
 
  This shiny fruit is not our fruit.

  The seeds in this package are
  dry and scentless.
  Until one night
  I dream of giant kites
  & skies bristling of tamarind fruits.
  The maple trees are showing me
  how to comb
  the soil to feel its teeth.
  How to grow
  my tongue,
  arms & feet.
  How to weave
  seasons & colors.
  How to cast my
  words like rice grains for my children.

  

Update:   This poem was featured in Boston Poetry Magazine.

Shared with Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Nov. 15, 2013 

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - 100th OpenLinkNight - This post was written late last year and is languishing in my draft folder.   Looking back now, I have edited the ending and thought of sharing this to all of you.  Thanks for the visit ~

Picture credit:   Poetry Foundation - Snake  

the day commute

Reena of Missing Moments

i wake up.  third alarm.
eat cereals and milk.  pack a meal.  
tidy the kitchen.   catch the bus.  same corner seat. 
  
drop coins for the subway train.   down the metal steps.
find a seat.  listen to the grating of wheels.  spitting of sands.   
gnashing of teeth along the worn city tracks.   

office grinds.  smelling of coffee & bagel.  a day old.
i sit on weary chair.   listen to papers shuffle.   wires tripping themselves.             
ink of printers & fax machines.   swallowing the minutes.        

there is a blankness.  
swimming through my veins. polluting the liver. 
clogging the nose. sharpening each paper cut on my fingers.   

i wonder where this tunnel ends.
and begins.   to another journey.  unedited & unrestrained.     
click. tick. click.  snap back into the frame.

third alarm.  i wake up.    


Posted for D'verse Poets - Poetics:  Trip the Poem - Hosted by Karin Gustafson.  We are having a gorgeous weekend.  Spring is finally here ~

about this job

Grace @ Everyday Amazing

Toronto City

the irony

of having a job in the big city

is that you are always thinking of escape-

beyond the shiny walls of mailboxes & files,

above the clutter of cubicles, chairs & black wires-

to rise like soapy bubbles from

rinsing dirty cups and teaspoons in the kitchen sink-

to drift like maple leaves, brown & careless  

in the wind, as you drive along the busy freeway-

people peer at windows, hungry for the open sky

they talk about beginnings - vacations in sunny

shores & retiring in the cottage, by the blue lake - 

eagerly counting the day they fly away from this

everyday grind of bread & debts -   a pipe-dream    

as we cleave to our desks, like grateful worker bees,  

meekly eating the piece of the lemon pie,

swallowing down fears that at anytime, one of us

can be crumpled away, like a grease-balled 

sandwich wrapper-    

Posted for:   D'verse Poets Pub

A reflection of her beauty

Grace @ Everyday Amazing

Keningston Market, Toronto

A flower blooms-
lavender, perfumed cheeks-
boldly inking the walls with stories  
- bloody-birthed, coarse as salt 
from far-away shores- 

Leaves grow with curried veins,
Underneath myriad of colors
- a heartbeat pulses-   
A tree, standing in the muddy river- 

Sunlight reflects her beauty,
fragmented yet uniquely whole-   
- this city, 
built on immigrants' dreams-


Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Stretching Comparisons
and Poetry Jam - Reflections - 

I saw Mona Lisa in Black & White

Grace @ Everyday Amazing

 Kensington Market, Toronto

her face-   
above the street,
littered with signs & dirt,
reminds pedestrians that ART/ 
ist lives here -

breathes color, ye//ow & ripe
as red papaya in summer-
s h a p i n g  brick walls into  
living canvas, where seeds grow/

e-X-p-l-O-d-i-n-g  
to fruits, 

freely 
BE/
neath the sky-

               

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

How to survive the first week

think before you print. 
think green.

you envy the importance
of office printers here - 
  they attract 
  traffic of paper loads -

and big vending machines -
  filled with shiny cans &
  sugary goodies to hasten the  
  yellowing of teeth- 

you scribble with pens,  
  labelled with CRM program - see
  you are compliant as a mouse-

remember the good side is always
the bottom line - more sales & 
  working hours, counted like abacus-   

you tap the keyboard & file- 
mute like hanging plants above,
  green as summer blades-   
  under bright lights, you  

plow through the day,
  putting your aches 
  in tea bags- 

Posted for:   D'verse Poets Pub ~  It's not easy being green ~  Hosted by Karin Gustafson

Happy St. Patrick's Day ~

Picture credit:   here

Fear

Grace @ Everyday Amazing

The old city burns

All through the day and night

From weight of roads – paved with asphalt, sin-tarred,

Trapped-silt from black tires pressing at every turn.

Inhale the heat and fumes.   Exhale the lake’s leftovers.  

Under the haloed street lights

Buildings squat like sumo wrestlers

Around the manicured garden, littered with plastic cups

Stained of coffee.   Your fear tinders like Last Rites.

To be squished like cigarette butts.  To be forgotten like a leaf.  

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Talking about the Hard Stuff - in 75 words

and D'verse Poets Pub - Form for All - Weave by David James

OUTside

The view from my cubicle

Grace @ Everyday Amazing

the noise outside
never ceases - whistling, screeching, thundering 
from cars, trucks

going east or west
always fast -
chasing ticking clock

I don't see - 
muting the snowdrops falling, trembling       
like a dove.


  

Posted for Real Toads - Mary's Mixed Bag - Windows
Poetry form:   La Lune for D'verse Poets Pub - Take 2 for me ~

3 lines of 3-5-3 words or 5-3-5 syllabic count - I have used both.