Showing posts with label nyc. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nyc. Show all posts

Wednesday, February 8, 2017

Times Square Commute, NYC (2015) - A Poem


8 am
"Yesterday" on violin
plays

commuters, tourists,
the homeless,

we walk through
tunnels
some shuffle,
meander,

you would think
there are only two
directions
in which to walk

yet, some pause,
creating no direction --
lingering

here in the belly
of the city
mindless,

we push on
eager to reach
some place

mindless,
we cut ahead
squeeze into
closing doors --

leaving the music
behind.

By Mary E. Lohan

Note: Susan Keser is the violinist who I refer to. I've linked to one of her videos above, and here as well. 

Sunday, February 5, 2017

Jazz at Cornelia Street Cafe (NYC) - Poem (from "Speaking to the Darkness")

Indigo walls frame
a light, crimson stage
aflame --

we sit jammed
at tiny cafe tables
candlelit in a NY
basement dive,

the air is rich and
alive with aromas
Moroccan hummus,

we order
tiramisu martinis
vodka with ice,

as the hunched pianist
hammers, his knees
pendulating,
feet kicking,
his rhythms egging
the quintet to
weave and swoop,

trumpet, sax,
bass, drums, all
pulling us on
and in,

we swim
and ride the melodic
plaited waves
until the music
fades.

By Mary E. Lohan

Note: About Cornelia Street Cafe

Tuesday, January 31, 2017

The Year of Tawana* - A Poem (from "Speaking to the Darkness")

How much of her story
was true?

Tawana found
in the trash,
abused

how much was fiction?

I walk down 8th Avenue
at midnight,
summer in the city
that never sleeps
return to my
rented studio
in Hell's Kitchen

only there's a
homeless man
passed out
in the dark, narrow
stairwell

Too afraid, I return
to the street
call my roommate
from a payphone
on the avenue
in full view

six black males
approach loudly,
but I look past
unaware as my call
goes to voicemail

one is chanting

only when they are
within feet,
do I hear the crazed one
chanting --

"Revenge for Tawana!" --
while looking straight
at me
his frenzied face
alive with a fire

I catch the eyes
of his friend, who sees me,
and pushes him
onward and away

I run into a bodega
and amidst stacked cans
of rice and beans
pray.

Note: *For more info on Tawana, see: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tawana_Brawley_rape_allegations