bowed over the door–
permeate the door
the bethel door
cast in echos–
behind the echos the door waits, bathed in light—luminous
Holy Trinity Church has wonderful doors–above is a close up of one of the three main entrances. But the rectory doors are also beautiful–and the gate to the parish center, and the side door too.
One of the homeless men waiting for the parish center to open particularly wanted me to photo the statue inside. So I did.
My poem is a tritina, a form I haven’t attempted in a long time, for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, where Willow Willers provided the synonym words, twilight and hue.
In other (excellent!) news, Nina drove into the city for a visit and lunch–we haven’t seen each other since January 2020. She brought me a wonderful pot of succulents, which I put by the window in my workspace. What a treat, on all counts. She promises to post something soon.
And here are some of the flowers now blooming in Riverside Park. It’s still quite warm, and they seem to like it.
You can join in Thursday doors here.
I noticed this intriguing door on one of my recent walks. I wonder what it’s going to become inside? I’ll keep an eye on it.
Everything around here is still green. I was reading that some people think the delayed autumn foliage is due to (what else) climate change. We are still having most days in the 70s in NYC–not normal for October at all.
There’s just a hint of color here and there.
Jimsonweed update–photos from 9/19, 9/26, and last weekend.
The parks department had been hard at work, clearing small growth next to trees and walkways. I hope they were wearing gloves! At any rate, they seem to have left some seeds, so I’ll have to watch next spring to see if something sprouts anew.
And this little dino was left out in the trash looking forlorn. Sometimes the sanitation people decorate their trucks with stuffed animals they find in the garbage on their routes. Perhaps that was what happened to him.
You can find more Thursday doors here.
mark not words, but boundaries–
you call them kindred
because they verge on your dreams
waves of receding
spirits returning like stars,
still and glittering
naked and exposed inside the lens of your life
My first sevenling poem, for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday challenge with synonyms for family and peace.
I took the above photo on Broadway, somewhere in the 80s I think. If you look closely you can see my headless figure.
This door belongs to a Con Ed substation at 110th and Amsterdam. The building itself is unmemorable, but I like the design of the door.
I spotted these flowers a few weeks ago when walking in Riverside Park. I had never seen what I thought to be an oak tree flowering before.
I could not figure out its identity until this weekend I saw it had seed pods. They were instantly identifiable online–jimson weed.
A toxic member of the nightshade family, although it does have medicinal and hallucinogenic uses. Evidently animals know to steer clear, but humans fall prey to its effects on a regular basis, not always accidentally.
And I wanted to share the view of the tower of light taken from my window Saturday night.
You can join in Thursday doors here.
some call the city a jungle,
I do like arched doors, and here are a few I saw on my travels around NYC last week. The one above and below were on opposite ends of the same block.
I’ve written a zeno poem for Colleen’s #TankaTuesday with synonyms for green and morass. We can now use any form from the poet’s collective list.
Here’s an arched side door next to some scaffolding, ubiquitous in Manhattan.
And some greenery and hydrangeas from the city parks–we are still getting a lot of rain.
My younger daughter used to play softball on this field in Central Park. It was a foggy day, and the fields were closed on account of being so wet. hence the red flag.
You can see more and join in here for Thursday Doors.
There is nothing else than now. There is neither yesterday, certainly, nor is there any tomorrow. How old must you be before you know that?
— Ernest Hemingway (For Whom the Bell Tolls,1940)
cocooned in green light
I am nowhere but right here
dappled by these trees
Central Park right now is green, green, green.
Jade at dVerse asked us to choose one of the Hemingway quotes she provided and write a poem in response. I shortened the quote for my short response.
And because it’s Thursday, I’m including some firehouse doors from new and old neighborhoods. Firefighters are very much aware of the nowness of life.
Although I think you could make the case for doors in the Central Park photos as well…
Your can add your own doors and see many others at Thursday Doors.
I went back to the turret house I photographed a few weeks ago to try to get a better photo of both the building and the entrance door. Above is the door.
And here’s a view of the entire house, taken from the park across the street on Riverside Drive.
This was my original photo.
I’m also posting some (to me) magical flowers I keep seeing on my walks in Riverside Park. I tried to figure out what they were online with no luck. Does anyone know?
I know exactly where they are–at 106 Street–because there is the statue of Franz Sigel across the street at the top of the steps. My longest residence anywhere in my life was up those steps, down 106 Street one block, and in the middle of the block to the left on West End Avenue. But I’ve never seen these flowers before.
I hope they continue to plant them every year!
It’s Thursday, so I’m linking to Thursday Doors.
long green days
open like roses
like fresh dreams
into clear blue skies
That’s my hope for June anyway.
sheer and continuous
sparkled currents rising
A badger’s hexastitch for Colleen’s #TankaTuesday prompt, the photo by Trent McDonald, below.
Trent’s photo made me think of all of Sue Vincent’s photo prompts, and all the watercolor mandalas I painted in response to her images. Thanks, Trent, for the equally magical landscape.
This badger’s hexastitch has a very cinquain-like feel to me–not intentional, but I think it works.
My prose poem Passing, inspired by “After the Storm”, by Istvan Farkas, below, is posted on The Ekphrastic Review today.
It was before and then it was after. The ground was reflected in the monochromatic sky, rising in the disappearing drizzle, held momentarily by the scattered light. The canopy could not be breached, not even by the unveiling here and now.
You can read the entire poem here.
My thanks once again to editor Lorette C. Luzajic for supporting my work and the interaction between the visual and written arts.