Bus Ride Through Brooklyn

Bus Ride Through Brooklyn

All State Café

Old Man At Union Square

Today I Caught a Football

The Sweetest Thing

The Tulip Man

Stormy Skies

Bus Ride Through Brooklyn
Looking through my window,
On the big express bus,
Gobbling up people,
Without too much fuss,

Snaking through the streets,
There is a lot to see,
People, people everywhere,
That only I can see,

Young girl in the doorway,
Of the deli store,
Wonder why she entered,
What is she there for,

Car goes speeding by,
Couple of folks inside,
Wonder where they are going,
Or is it just for a ride,

Old man on a bench,
Along the cramped small green,
Surrounded by gray concrete,
Bench life is so serene,

The flag flies above me,
Snapping in the wind,
Whatever it once meant,
On more so intent,

Bus ride through the streets,
People out galore,
Can’t wait to see tomorrow,
What the bus ride has in store.

All State Café
formerly on West 72^nd St New York, NY

To say the things I want to say,
I have to travel far this way,
To a place where I may,
Know that I can be okay,

So at the table I picked today,
Here at my favorite All State Café,
Where chairs are lined up in array,
And patrons at the bar hold sway,

The dusky light of noontime day,
Beckons shelter from the fray,
Of hustle, bustle and dismay,
The sanctuary of All State Café,

A quiet corner where I can stay,
My mind can wander – even stray,
To pray the prayers I need to pray,
Only at All State Café.

Old Man at Union Square
Old man amidst the rushing crowd
Worn suit and touch of gray
Invisible to those just inches from him
Busily on their way
Lost within a dark netherworld
The labyrinths of Union Square
Not knowing how to find his way
A wide awake nightmare
Trembling as his cries for help
The throng seems not to hear
”Help me find the L train,”
His voice so filled with fear
Old man lost and lonely
Quite unable to see

Today I Caught A Football
Today I caught a football,
As I was on my way,
Along West 70^th Street,
Where kids were all at play.

It bounced right before me,
Like some gift from God,
Right in to my hands,
I tossed it back with a nod,

If only for a moment,
I felt something so fine,
Like I might just belong,
That my life was really mine.

And when I stepped across,
West End Avenue,
My world had somehow changed,
Back to all I ever knew.

The Thistle and the Rose
Along the garden wall,
The rose grows straight and tall,
Yet every now and then,
A thistle pops up when,
The garden at its best,
And tending stops to rest,
To strangle out the rose,
The reason no one knows.

The rose with boundless beauty,
It’s color beyond compare,
Choked by the rising thistle,
That grows with its own flare,
To spread throughout the garden,
And mask the rose so fair,
To darken tranquil beauty,
Turning the garden bare.

The Sweetest Thing
Subway riders,
Late at night,
Young couple and child,
Looks so right.

Studious,
Upright,
With firm resolve,
Mother and father,
Their world evolves.

One innocent child,
Face so fair,
In her father’s arms,
She begins to wear.

Outstretched hand,
On a stranger’s arm,
He looks and smiles,
She senses no harm.

Subway riders,
Alone at night,
One small child,
Bright and light.

Wiggly squirming,
Pleads to get down,
Father’s look,
Never a frown.

Mother watching,
From feet away,
Holding the other,
As they sway.

They found each other,
As they know,
Their pure true love,
To the world they show.

The Tulip Man
The tulip man plants his bulbs,
And waits for spring to come,
When green shoots up from the earth,
The promise of life begun,

He waits and he watches,
For hues oh so bright,
His artistry awakens,
A garden of delight,

A brightly colored canvas,
Of delicate precious life,
The tulip’s time soon passes,
With memories ever rife,

Of radiant hues emerging,
From beautiful laughing smiles,
Swaying in the breeze,
His heart dancing all the while,

And as the garden closes,
The tulip’s one act play,
The curtain opens for summer,
His encore a season away.

Stormy Skies
The rain falls
From on high
Gray clouds
Drift darkly by
The wind roars
Whipping the rain
Like watery pellets
Against window panes
A torrent flows
In silvery cascade
From rooftops high
Upon pavestones

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Bus Ride Through Brooklyn

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