Tag Archive | NYC

Church Doors and more

vesper bells—echos
bowed over the door–
luminous

murmured, luminous–
whispered echos
permeate the door

the bethel door
cast in echos–
sacred, luminous

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.

Autumn door and more

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.

open seed pod
it flowered again
just remnants left

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.

in the absence of words (phantom doors)

an enclosure without an opening–
doorways poised between
not-here and not-there

bones left as signs, portents–
bordering a journey
of invisibility

not memories—those are too real

Visitor to Germantown

Merril Smith provided the above image prompt, by Benton Spruance, for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday this week. I’ve written another sevenling poem in response.

I’ve been collecting what I call phantom doors and windows for awhile now, and Spruance’s image of 30s home foreclosure fits well with these haunted spaces.

Is something being kept in or something left out?

You can join in Thursday doors here.

halfway (Thursday doors and more)

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.

Thursday Doors: Oasis

Just a piece of earth surrounded by walkways, tables with chairs and benches, buildings.  A dorm, a student center under renovation, classrooms, a hedge.

Always there are birds.  Hopeful begging sparrows, robins searching the grass even in snow, starlings flashing yellow beaks, the red of cardinals and the screech of blue jays.  A mockingbird that serenades for nearly half an hour one morning.  A nuthatch on the trunk of the tree.  A flicker, often heard but never seen.  A hawk overhead, and Crow, always loudly demanding attention.  New birds we can’t get close enough to identify clearly.  We look at photos online and argue about what is closest to what we thought we saw.

Students wander past, occasionally sit for awhile.  Children and dogs play on the lawn.  But often it’s just the three of us—two coffees, one tea.  We walk from uptown and downtown to meet for a few hours together on a sleepy college campus, with the sky above and the sounds of the city fading far away.

ambient green—re
turning voices gather un
der branches soon bare

The top photo is of the doors of a Columbia University dorm that sits on one side of the place my daughters and I often meet. Obviously not built recently…

Also written for Brendan at earthweal who asked us to consider how nature and humans can adapt to each other to provide places for both to thrive.

You can join in Thursday doors here.

An Expedition for Thursday Doors

walking walking
looking for doors looking
for ways to connect
one with another–
walking and looking
for the one door that becomes the center,
the pivot that marks where I turn around

walking walking
should I retrace my path?
or sit for awhile
and consider how
I came to be here,
thinking of all the doors I haven’t seen–
they are not lost—just waiting to be found

I photographed this mansion on Riverside Drive awhile ago, but my front views were not very good, so I made a special trip back to photograph the front again.

You can’t get close to the front, but the side, on West 89th Street, is very accessible–you can even drive into the doorway.

Built by Isaac Rice, an attorney and investor, in the early 1900s, in 1907 it was sold to cigarette manufacturer Solomon Schinasi, and then to a Yeshiva in 1954. There was a huge battle in 1980 over whether it should be landmarked or sold to a developer who would have knocked it down and built another highrise–Landmarks won out, and it remains a cash-strapped school.

My poem, for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday theme expedition, provided by Donna Matthews, is a duodora. You can read about the form here.

Read more about the Rice Mansion here and here.

And see more Thursday Doors here. Although Dan is on vacation this week, there are lots of previous posts to peruse.

Thursday Doors: House on West End Avenue

I’ve always liked this house on West End Ave. The entrance is on the side.

I couldn’t get a straight on angle to photo the door. It has nice details on the top and in the surrounding arch.

And here’s some flowers I saw while walking along Columbus Avenue.

You can see more doors and join in here.

Serendipity (Thursday Doors and more)

some call the city a jungle,
tangled chaos–
but shapes
form
patterns—all those
untried
doors!
endless portals,
sprouting
more

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.

a close up

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.

July 2021 with blue door

let yourself be
enchanted with each moment
as it appears

July makes me long for the ocean, so my grid is composed of ocean doors. But I also found a blue house door into the garden level of a brownstone that makes me think its owners are reminding themselves too every day of the sea.

You can join Thursday Doors here.

green park red 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.