Skip to content →

Category: Brooklyn

POEM: two turtles on a rock

two turtles on a rock

a robin watching, feet just beneath the surface
of this little pond in a corner of Prospect Park
there’s a fallen-down half-sunken wooden fence
overgrown with vines / a newer metal fence
keeps everyone this close to nature but no closer
the pond has a bend in it but it’s deceptive —
the water ends right there / no adventure awaits
at least not the kind we associate with rivers
now the robin is bathing, chest puffed out in hubris
until a third, smaller turtle swims up behind
convinces the bird there’s no shame in sunbathing
when I look up from writing that line, it’s gone

15 April 2012
Prospect Park
Brooklyn

/ / /


It’s National Poetry Writing Month! A poem a day, each day in April.

2 Comments

POEM: monkey mind

monkey mind

“Matt, this is Chris.”
“Chris, this is Danni. With an ‘i.'”
“Danni, this is Nicole.”
“I think we met at the book club.”
“David, this is Stacy.”
“Hi, these are my parents. They’re in
        from Sweden.”
“We’re here for 20 days.”
“C.C., there are no eggs over there.”
“Someone go tell C.C. that all the eggs
        are over here.”
“Honey, we hid them so we know
        where they are.”
“What time are you guys starting
        your Easter egg hunt?
        Because we were going to start
        around 11 and we don’t want
        to get in your way.”
“I think we just lost some of our eggs
        to the competition.”
“Kids, go to the doggie park. The
        doggie park. Go to the
        doggie park.”
“I think that guy is meditating.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea.”

8 April 2012
Prospect Park
Brooklyn, NY


It’s National Poetry Writing Month! A poem a day, each day in April. I meditated in Prospect Park today in what started as an empty field and became an Easter egg hunt.

Leave a Comment

POEM: Naruto Ramen, Brooklyn

Naruto Ramen, Brooklyn

where the cooks speak a mixture
of Japanese and Spanish
Irashaimase!” they call
as people come in off 5th Ave
hang their coats and backpacks
on the wall hooks
those who know sit at the bar
because the bar is a sacred place
where devotion is paid
to the sprout, the noodle,
the bean pod, the tofu square,
the white pepper garnish
the sweat on the brow
the cold Sapporo or Asahi
the cheap balsa wood hashi
that you break at the end
scraping the sticks against
one another to remove splinters
order the extra noodles because
they’re generous with the broth
slurp loud enough to pay respect
to the hachimaki-sporting men
flinging pots on the six-burner stove
like Barishnikovs with ladles
for some, the nostalgia is as thick
as the steam rising off the broth pots
it’s a bit of a surprise to leave
and find yourself in Brooklyn
not in any of a thousand thousand shops
just like this one, tucked around a corner
of a narrow street, in every town in Japan

4 April 2012
Brooklyn, NY

/ / /


It’s National Poetry Writing Month! A poem a day, each day in April.

Leave a Comment