Tag: wsr poetry corner

Apartment like a shoebox,/One bedroom, four people.

The incendiary pre-dusk disc hovers over the glasspane Hudson/Then balances precariously on faraway peaks of the Jersey shore

Walking through Central Park/ Together with my mother,/I notice the expectation in her eyes...

 Our Hudson today's/A dark undulating jade.

So, looking skyward,/feeling the aching void of what's no longer, I asked for a sign...

We're all going somewhere/And maybe our paths will cross

Don’t judge/Anything goes...

Alas, guess what! dominating space/ Sits a starling chirping loud

If I could be a Christmas tree/Tell you what I’d do

'Twas the night before Christmas on the Upper West Side...

December pulls no punches/ It tells it to you straight

They dot the skylines in random array...

They’re hangers-on/Refuse to leave the party.

"Everyone says this poem belongs in the West Side Rag." Now, it is.

I bought a kazoo. Metallic green.

No internet, no TV, no wifi, no Alexa.

Don't we all need some ruby slippers?